


just let me adore you

by chaoticlywise



Series: will you love this part of me? [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Issues, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Good Significant Other, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Excessive use of italics, F/M, Fraternity Parties, Homophobic Language, Implied Crossfading, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, Nicknames, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Good Significant Other, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Sexual Humor, Sickfic, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, its p minor tho, surprise its weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticlywise/pseuds/chaoticlywise
Summary: Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, the corner of his lips quirking upwards as he felt a blush start to warm his cheeks.Honey. Richie had called him honey.And it was… nice.Or:5 times Richie accidentally called Eddie by a nickname and 1 time Eddie did on purpose
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Series: will you love this part of me? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050467
Comments: 42
Kudos: 221





	1. Honey

**Author's Note:**

> howdy folks! before you read this, here are some quick notes: Stan, Bill, and Richie live in an apartment together and they’ve known each other since childhood! 
> 
> Eddie moved to Portland from Derry for college and that’s how he met Richie. Eds met Bev and Mike in freshman year (they’re like sophomores), and Ben’s friends with them bc Bev and Ben are dating.
> 
> title is from “Adore You” by Harry Styles bc he’s a king and it also felt appropriate for this fic lol. okay, me thinks that’s it, so enjoy!
> 
> (ps, inspo for this fic came in the form of this vine: https://youtu.be/eHLz84DHkxo)

The first time it happens, Eddie can easily write it off as some fluke because it’s not everyday that Richie is so drugged up on Nyquil that he can’t even see straight. 

They’ve been dating for just about three months and Eddie is positive that Richie is the most interesting person he’s ever met. He’s hilarious and the biggest sweetheart Eddie’s ever met and it certainly doesn’t help that he’s absolutely stunning. Not a day goes by that Eddie doesn’t learn something new about him (Richie’s roommates and longtime best friends, Stan and Bill, make sure of that). 

Richie is lanky and uncoordinated and clumsy but he loves to play the guitar and he likes to paint his nails and always asks the elderly people at the store if they need help getting something off the top shelf. He’s always getting asked if he plays basketball because of his height, which makes Eddie laugh because nine times out of ten, his tissues miss the trash can when it’s less than five feet away from him. 

He’s Eddie’s opposite, the kind of person that Sonia Kaspbrak would hate: exciting, funny, ever evolving, unpredictable,  _ loud _ , but he’s a good person, through and through. 

Unfortunately, he’s also a major dumbass. 

It started with Bill nearly a month ago because when he walked into their apartment after an early morning shift at Starbucks and then a class that ran long by forty minutes, he was sniffing and doing a poor job of covering up a dry sounding cough. 

Stan let that go on for exactly a day and a half before forcibly dragging his ass to the doctor, which was definitely for the best because Bill was too cheap to have any health insurance and was diagnosed with a strain of the flu. Shitty, but not anything that couldn't be taken care of in a week, a week and a half at the most. 

Of course, that assumed that Bill would actually do as the doctor told him and stayed home, drank plenty of water, and worked on his general health and well-being. 

Bill did not do this. In fact, he went about his everyday life like nothing was different. He still went to his shifts at Starbucks and still went to all his classes and, worst of all, coughed without covering his mouth. Basically, walking into their apartment would be like walking into a Petri dish. 

Upon finding out about this through a passing comment from Richie, Eddie almost vehemently told Richie he would not be spending any time at the apartment until they were sure it had passed. Richie thought he was overreacting but was understanding, and he didn’t even pout all but one time when Eddie dogged his kiss to avoid getting sick ( _ Bill’s already sick, Rich, and do you know how many germs are transmitted from mouths-? _ ).

So, it's another two weeks later and Bill is better but now Stan has it. Richie reassures Eddie that he was notoriously known back at his high school for never missing a day because he (miraculously) never got sick, not even a cold. It came as a genuine shock when both Stan and Bill backed Richie up after Eddie texted them about it. 

Sure enough, Stan got over his flu (quicker than Bill because he was the  _ only _ sensible one in that apartment) and Richie didn’t get sick. 

A single, glorious, sick-free week passed before it all came crashing down.

Richie talked a lot of big talk, almost bragging even while his friends were suffering with sore throats and clogged sinuses and headaches that just  _ wouldn’t go away _ , which is why Eddie has a hard time not laughing when Richie calls him on a random Tuesday in August to tell him that he was officially sick. A cough tags on at the end and Eddie grimaces. 

“Jesus,” Eddie says into the receiver, distractedly writing notes for his chem class. “You sound like a middle-aged chain smoker.”

There’s a distant laugh on the other side of the line that sounds distinctly like Stan and then Richie groans, hoarsely calling, “shut your yapper, Stanley.” 

Eddie makes an over exaggerated coo at him and says, “aw, poor  _ baby _ .” It’s a little mocking and Eddie is having far too much fun ribbing his… boyfriend? It’s complicated and they haven’t really talked about it yet.

“My life is  _ so hard _ ,” Richie whines, and Eddie does laugh this time. “Will you come over?”

The question catches Eddie off guard, because he thought Richie understood; Eddie didn’t like germs, and even that was an understatement. He hadn’t let Richie kiss him on the mouth for a  _ month _ after explaining that he had a strong aversion to germs. He dileberately avoided the word “hypochondriac” because that brought up far too many unpleasant memories that he thought he’d buried and gotten over when he left Derry two years ago. Apparently not.

Richie had looked so sincere when he said he understood, when he started kissing Eddie on his forehead instead of his mouth just to make him feel comfortable; it was clear he’d sensed that there was something else going on behind the scenes but didn’t push Eddie to say anything and he could never thank Richie enough for that. And this led Eddie to the conclusion that if he was asking Eddie to come over, he must’ve really felt like shit. 

(That, or this was a desperate attempt to get in his pants.) 

Suddenly, even the potential germs weren’t enough to scare him off and Eddie found himself closing his books and laptop in favor of packing an overnight bag to head to Richie’s shared apartment. 

Before heading to the apartment, he stops at a little mom-and-pop style convenience store to grab some aspirin, a bottle of NyQuil, some tissues and chapstick, and a couple cans of soup. Eddie’s seen the state of that apartment's kitchen, and has fully bashed Stan, Bill, and Richie (individually, as a group, and  _ multiple _ different times) for the sheer amount of chips, Red Bull’s, and condiments they had stocked up. Seriously, who needs that many sauces? 

Eddie gets to their apartment in record time, the sudden radio silence from Richie spurring him on, and he knocks on the door to the apartment. Stan lets him in and as he walks through the relatively clean, conjoined kitchen/living room, he spots Bill on his laptop, looking like he’s melded into the couch. They have a brief, polite conversation before Stan tells him that Richie is, and Eddie quotes, “wallowing around in his own personal hell”, which meant he was in his pigsty of a room. 

Eddie knocks as a polite courtesy, but pushes his way in before Richie can answer. And, yes,  _ pushes _ because Richie has little to no self respect and constantly left his dirty clothes lying about, which meant clothes frequently got stuck in front of and underneath the door. Hooray for 20 year old college students.

The room is worse than usual, balled up tissues that had just missed the trash can by a few inches and paper plates with pizza crusts and chips littered the floor or on other various surfaces. Eddie toes off his shoes and walks towards the lump on the bed, under a pile of blankets, quilts, and a few wrinkled t-shirts. 

Eddie sets the plastic bags from the convenience store on the cluttered dresser and kneels on the bed, fully expecting the usually light-sleeper to snap his eyes open and make some crude “ _ your mom _ ” joke. 

When this doesn’t happen, Eddie actually starts to feel, well,  _ worried _ . He’d been teasing Richie but maybe he was feeling worse than he really let onto. Eddie flicks a lock of his curly hair away from his eyes and, sure enough, Richie looks to be fully asleep, breathing through his mouth instead of his nose. He makes an odd, little whistling sound every time he breathes out and Eddie smooths his hair back, feeling the warmth radiating off his skin.

Richie still doesn’t stir and Eddie doesn’t have the heart to wake him, so he sets to cleaning up the mess in his room. He was nothing if not pragmatic, and Richie being asleep made for the perfect time to clean up a little. 

It takes a good forty minutes before it looks like Eddie’s even made a dent, but Richie makes an admittedly cute snuffling sound and stretches his arms over his head, alerting Eddie to his wakefulness. Eddie sits on the bed next to Richie, smoothing his hair back once again to make Richie aware of his presence. 

Richie’s smile is radiant and somewhat dazed when he rolls over and squints Eddie, and it makes him look just a little less sick. It’s contagious ( _ no pun intended _ ), and Eddie smiles back. It’s probably a little dopey and all too gentle but he didn’t really care. 

“Hey,” Richie croaks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You’re here.”

“I am,” Eddie agrees, voice soft. He still smooths a hand over Richie’s hair and Eddie’s heart damn near bursts when he leans into it. “I brought things.”

“What kinda things?”

“Medicine, tissues. You know, the works,” Eddie lists off, ignoring Richie’s groan at the mention of  _ medication,  _ because god forbid he got intoxicated from anything other than weed and copious amounts of beer. “How are you feeling?”

Richie sighs, stuffy and wet. “Pretty shitty,” he exhales, shrugging pathetically. “Sore throat, and I didn’t even get it from doing anything fun.”

Richie raises his eyebrows suggestively and Eddie tries to play his laugh off as a scoff. He shakes his head fondly, saying, “you’re stupid.”

“No, ‘m sick,” Richie whines, nudging Eddie playfully. Eddie sighs, being reminded of why he was truly there: to help get Richie better.

“Yes, you are, which is why I got you all this,” Eddie agrees, reaching for the plastic bag he left on the desk. Richie groans at the crinkling, pulling the covers up and over his head. “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen. It’s just some aspirin and NyQuil.” 

“I’m good,” Richie says, pulling the covers down so he could eye the bottles with barely concealed disdain. Eddie levels him with a Look and Richie shrinks back a little, saying, “...well, just a little never hurt anybody, right?”

Eddie beams and gets to work, opening the bottles. He hands two tablets of aspirin to Richie, who sits up some and swallows them dry, despite Eddie’s offer to go get him a glass of water. Eddie grimaces; he had been taking pills his entire life ( _ thanks for the placebos, mom _ ) and he still could never choke a pill down without a little water. 

It’s only when Eddie gets to the NyQuil that Richie really starts to protest. 

“It just tastes so  _ bad _ ,” he complains, even while Eddie pours the proper dosage into the little cap. “Can’t I just take, I dunno, a Zicam or something?”

“Zicam is a preventative,” Eddie explains, gently handing the little cap to Richie without spilling it onto the covers. Richie takes it almost automatically and sniffs it, making a face when it clearly doesn't smell as nice as he hoped it would have. “You’re already sick.” 

Richie glares halfheartedly at Eddie, and then reluctantly directs his gaze to the NyQuil. Eddie slips his hand into Richie’s free one, squeezing it gently. 

“Tell you what,” Eddie says. “Next time I get sick, I’ll let you give me the same treatment. I’ll take NyQuil and you can laugh at me when I make a stupid face at the taste.”

“You never get sick,” Richie mumbles, finally throwing it back like a shot. He grimaces, sticking his tongue out as if that’ll relieve him from the taste. 

“And why do you think that is?” Eddie asks, already back to teasing him as he takes the cap back and places it next to the other bottles. “ _ Maybe _ it’s because I take care of myself and don’t let it get to the point of actually being sick. I dunno, just a thought.”

“Stupid,” Richie mutters, and although he doesn’t specify just who or what he’s name calling, Eddie doesn’t take it to heart. He smiles warmly and brushes his hand through Richie’s hair again, just because he can, scratching lightly at his scalp. Richie sighs in contentment, leaning into the touch once again.

“Get some rest,” Eddie says, placing a kiss on the top of Richie’s head. Richie burrows back into the blankets and Eddie is happy to smooth the wrinkles out of the covers. “I’ll be back in a bit with some soup.”

He doesn’t think Richie really hears the last part, already off in dreamland, but he hums anyway and it’s confirmation enough for Eddie. 

After he grabs the bag with the cans of soup, Eddie slips out of Richie’s room and into the conjoined kitchen/living room area. Stan has joined Bill on the couch and they’re now watching some documentary on the TV, but they pause it when he walks in. 

They ask how Richie is, if there’s anything they can do, and Eddie shakes his head (and thanks any and all divine entities that Richie has such good friends) before heading into the kitchen.

It doesn't take long to heat up the microwaveable soup, thinking back on how his mother always used to make him fresh chicken noodle soup when he felt bad; thinking about it always left a bad taste in his mouth, though, so he stopped before he could dive too deep into darker memories. 

When it’s done, Eddie pours the soup into a bowl and makes his way back to Richie’s room. It’s a short walk but he’s careful not to spill any of the steaming liquid onto himself or the floor.

Richie is still asleep when he walks in, and Eddie leaves the soup on the nightstand before sitting down on the edge of the bed and shaking Richie awake as gently as possible.

“Richie,” Eddie coaxes, still lightly rubbing his arm in hopes of waking him. Richie hums noncommittally, flipping over to look at Eddie with half-lidded eyes.

Richie’s voice is more of a mumble than anything and definitely a little rough when he responds with, “yeah, honey?” 

Eddie’s brain short circuits. That… that was a first. They’d never talked about cutesy nicknames like that before. Sure, there was always “Rich”, and “Eds”, or (annoyingly) “Eddie Spaghetti” (and other variations of that), but never anything as domestic or lovey-dovey as  _ honey _ . 

He couldn’t blame the slip up on Richie, no matter how he looked at it. Richie was sick, and had some NyQuil in his system; his brain was all out of wack. 

“Uh,” Eddie stammers eloquently. He shakes his head, as if he can physically dispel his stupor. He glances at the bowl of soup on the nightstand before looking back at Richie and says, “soup.” 

Richie eyes him critically and Eddie amends by saying, “I made you soup. Do you want it right now or…?” 

“Now’s good,” Richie says, more alert as he sits up in bed. He takes the soup and thanks Eddie, who merely nods, feeling distant. 

“You okay, Eds?” Richie asks after a couple of minutes of silence. Eddie nods vigorously, and stands up. 

“I, uh, I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick,” he says, retreating before Richie could say anything back. 

Eddie rushes through the little hallway, past Stan and Bill in the conjoined kitchen/living room, and into the little bathroom at the end of the hall. He shuts and locks the door, putting his back against it. He bites the inside of his cheek, the corner of his lips quirking upwards as he felt a blush start to warm his cheeks. 

_ Honey _ . Richie had called him honey. 

And it was… nice.


	2. Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How many of those do you have set?” Eddie questions groggily as Richie completely powers his phone down. “You’re the lightest sleeper I know.”
> 
> “Eds, sugar, just because I’m a light sleeper doesn’t mean I’m a morning person,” Richie says, words slurred with sleepiness and eyes closed tightly. Eddie’s own eyes flutter open, mouth parting slightly in disbelief. 
> 
> Eddie doesn’t hear whatever else Richie has to say because all he can think is, ‘did Richie just call me sugar?’
> 
> Or:
> 
> Month Four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobic slurs

Richie is spontaneous, Eddie’s learned, and it's not always a bad thing. 

Sometimes, it’ll be that Richie gets out of class early and comes to wait outside of Eddie’s class so they can leave together. Other times, they’ll be hanging out in Eddie’s dorm room or at Richie’s apartment and he’ll randomly ask, _‘hey, do you wanna go get ice cream?_ ’ or, _‘lets go to the football game tonight!_ ’ 

Eddie’s not really sure what makes Richie want to go out and do something like that, something so unpredictable, because Eddie doesn’t have that. He likes plans and communication. Richie needs nor cares about such ties; if he sees or hears about something he wants to do, he simply does it. If someone needs to get in contact with him, he’s got a phone for a reason. 

Eddie knows his reluctance to do impromptu things stems from his own less than stellar childhood. His mother was overprotective, overbearing, and smothering. She always had something to say about him going out: _do you have your pills, Eddie-Bear? What about your inhaler? You know what, maybe you should just stay in today. We can do something together. You can’t really love those delinquents you call friends more than you love your own mother, can you?_ She would coax and guilt and manipulate him until she got the answer she wanted, and he would bend over backwards just to keep her happy. It was because of her that Eddie lost all his friends back in Derry. It had been miserable. 

This is why he hasn’t talked to her in nearly a year and a half. He hadn’t even told her he was leaving the night he did because if she asked him not to leave (re: begged and cried), he wouldn’t have. He would’ve stayed in that hellhole until she died. And then where would he be?

He wouldn’t be _going with the flow_ , as Richie had said once. He wouldn’t be in Portland, meeting all kinds of new people and making actual friends. Wouldn’t be laughing or making exciting memories. 

He certainly wouldn’t have been going to his boyfriend's apartment after getting a mysterious _‘come over?_ ’ text out of the blue.

Eddie had been reluctant to go at first, his algebra homework was calling him from its place on his desk and his mother’s words echoed in his head: _be cautious of strangers, Eddie-Bear._ He had to physically shake his head and remind himself: this was _Richie_ . Someone who he trusted, who was respectful, who would never hurt him. Eddie had very little trouble typing back a quick _‘be there soon!’_ text.

When he showed up to Richie’s apartment that evening, he found that Richie had kicked his roommates out for the night. He had a bottle of red wine in hand and said some cheesy one liner that Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at. The best part of all that was the homemade banner taped to the ceiling of the living room. 

_‘Happy Four Months, Spaghetti Head!’_

It was so weird and silly and inane and the letters were squished together near the end like he was running out of space to write but Eddie _loved_ it with his entire being. Everything about it screamed _Richie!_ even if it wasn’t his nickname on the banner. 

Eddie laughed so hard that tears formed and Richie hugged him so tightly that he actually feared he might need his inhaler for a moment. It hurt, in a way, but it was good. 

Richie made him dinner and they watched _Criminal Minds_ on Netflix. They drank a little too much wine and got a little flirty, a little handsy, and took it to the bedroom for the first time. 

They’d messed around before, of course they had, but this was _different_ . And it wasn’t like either of them had never had sex before, so it wasn’t special because one of them was losing their virginity but this was just… it was better. It _felt_ special for unknown reasons. 

Waking up the next morning wasn’t quite so nice. 

The blaring alarm is what wakes him, sudden and way too loud for his hungover body. Eddie groans and shoves his head further into the pillow squished underneath him to muffle the sound. There's a little bit of shuffling, some soft groaning from the other occupant of the bed, and the alarm shuts off. The room is, blessedly, left in silence. 

Eddie snuggles further into the bed, sighing contentedly. His bare shoulders are cold from where they peak over the covers and he’s pleasantly sore from the night before.

There’s more shuffling, shifting of body weight, and Richie settles in close to Eddie. Eddie does nothing, too tired to do much more than rest his eyes and breathe. The covers shift noisily again and then, hot breath skims over his back. Eddie shivers when little kisses are left there: down his spine, between his shoulder blades, on his shoulders, brushing over the nape of his neck. 

Eddie finally lifts his face from the pillows and covers, turning to be eye-to-eye with Richie. Eddie turns so he’s laying on his back and lets the covers fall down to expose more bare skin. He sees the way Richie eyes him, taking in the rise and fall of his chest and stomach, the sliver of uncovered hip bone, before tracing back up his body. Chest, collarbones, shoulders, jaw, and finally landing on Eddie’s lips. Richie smiles. 

It’s exceedingly unfair, but Richie is honest to god gorgeous in the mornings. Eddie doesn’t know if it’s from the sunlight streaming in over his bare, freckled back or his bedhead or if it’s the soft, dopey look he directs at Eddie that makes him so damn attractive but Eddie doesn't question it. It’s probably a mix of the three. 

Richie lays on his stomach, lifted up slightly on his forearms, and leans over to press a sweet kiss to Eddie’s lips. His breath is gross, but Eddie doesn’t mind it for once. He leans into the kiss until Richie pulls away, chasing his lips and missing the contact. 

“Mornin’,” Richie whispers, voice gravelly from sleep. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Eddie answers, stretching his arms up and over his head. “Would’ve been better if your mattress wasn’t so damn hard. Seriously, it’s hard as fucking rocks.”

Richie lets out a surprised laugh, eyebrows lifting minutely. “Oh, really?” He asks rhetorically. Eddie breathes a laugh through his nose, nodding. Richie gets that mischievous glint in his eyes but before Eddie can say anything, he grabs Eddie by the sides, rolling until Richie is on his back and Eddie lays on top of him, chest to chest and tucked partially between his legs. “Better?”

Eddie’s giggles taper off into a happy little sigh and he nods, arms coming up to wrap around Richie’s neck as Richie’s own arms encircle his waist. “Much better,” Eddie whispers, feeling warm and content. 

They lay there for a few more minutes and they both start to doze until Richie’s phone starts to go off again, his second alarm. Eddie lets out a wordless whine as Richie reaches to the bedside table for his phone.

“How many of those do you have set?” Eddie questions groggily as Richie completely powers his phone down. “You’re the lightest sleeper I know.”

“Eds, sugar, just because I’m a light sleeper doesn’t mean I’m a morning person,” Richie says, words slurred with sleepiness and eyes closed tightly. Eddie’s own eyes flutter open, mouth parting slightly in disbelief. 

Eddie doesn’t hear whatever else Richie has to say because all he can think is, _did Richie just call me sugar?_

Just as Eddie’s about to ask him about it, Richie sighs and manhandles Eddie until he’s back in the spot he was previously in. It’s cold now and Eddie shivers. “As much as I would love to spend the rest of the day warming you up, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down-” Richie wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as he stands up and Eddie groans, throwing a pillow at a laughing Richie, “-I do actually have a class this morning.”

Eddie adjusts so he’s laying on his stomach again, and Richie leans down to give him a quick kiss on his temple before leaving to go take a shower and brush his teeth in the bathroom down the hall. 

The shower starts running after a few minutes and Eddie burrows into the bed again, content to sleep in on his rare day off. But then… _Sugar_. The word pops into his head again and Eddie feels that same giddy feeling he did when Richie called him honey less than a month and a half back. 

People used to call him nicknames in the past ( _fairy, wheezy, queer, Eddie-bear_ ). He hated those nicknames, they felt condescending and patronizing, like a way to push him down and keep him there. The longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes that that was exactly their purpose. 

Derry wasn’t a particularly open minded town. It was a small, gossipy little place, dreary and boring. Everyone knew everyone, and that’s why it sucked. Very few wanted to be friends with the kid whose mom never let him out of her sight, who had trouble breathing, and was (most likely) a nasty little queer. There was power in anonymity, a feeling like you couldn’t be touched, and Eddie didn’t get that until college, until Portland. 

Eddie sighs again, eyeing the unused digital clock sitting on the nightstand. _8:36AM_. Richie has class at 9 but Eddie doesn’t have class until 10:30, so he figures he’ll let himself actually sleep in for once. 

The shower shuts off and Richie shuffles back into the room, digging through his closet for something to wear. Eddie would usually try to make light conversation but his eyelids are heavy, droopy, so he lets himself rest and Richie doesn’t bother him. 

Richie leaves the room eventually and Eddie can hear the telltale sounds of the coffee maker whirring. The smell hits him all at once and he thinks about getting up—the bed really wasn’t all that comfortable and it was partly the reason he was so sore this morning (that, and _other_ reasons)—but Eddie decides against it. 

There’s some more shuffling, like someone is trying really hard to keep quiet while they’re walking, and then the sound of the door frame creaking catches his attention. 

Eddie lets his eyes flutter open after a moment and sighs lightly when he sees Richie standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a travel mug of coffee in hand and the softest smile on his face. He looks comfortable in his sweatshirt, joggers and checkered Vans with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Eddie levels him with a glare but Richie doesn't look the least bit intimidated. 

“What?” Eddie asks snappily, flipping onto his back. 

“Nothing, this is just a nice view, is all,” Richie murmurs, stepping into the room and walking to sit next to him. He leans over Eddie, caging him in and pressing a kiss to his lips. Eddie hums happily, throwing his arms lazily around Richie’s neck. Richie pulls back, a grin on his face. “I like seeing you like this. In my bed.”

“Who says this is for you?” Eddie asks teasingly. “Maybe I just like it here.”

“Doubtful,” Richie says. “I think you're here purely for me.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, rising to the bait. “And what makes you say that?”

“You literally told me less than a half hour ago that you think my bed is, and I quote, _hard as fucking rocks_ ,” Richie says, pitching his voice up at the end to poorly mimic Eddie.

Eddie scoffs, turning back over onto his stomach with the intention to fully ignore Richie. “Okay, you can go now,” Eddie says and Richie laughs at his dismissive tone. Eddie looks at the time on the unused alarm clock and sighs. “Seriously, you have class in fifteen minutes, Rich.”

Richie goes wide-eyed then, turning his head to look at the clock so fast, Eddie’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. 

“Oh, shit,” Richie mutters, standing quickly and dropping a hasty kiss to the back of Eddie’s head. “Okay, Stan and Bill are still out but they’ll probably be back soon, so don’t stay too long unless you wanna get the ribbing of your _life_. Also, I left some coffee in the pot if you want it. On that note… I'll see you later?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, sleepily watching Richie hesitate at the door. “Get outta here, I’m just sleeping in for another hour before I have to get to class.”

Richie goes after a minute but it feels… heavy, like that silence should’ve been filled with something; like it was supposed to mean something more. Eddie distantly hears the front door close and lock, and he presses his face further into the pillows. They smelled like Richie.

  
He thinks on that for a minute, that weird silence, and finally- _oh,_ Eddie realizes. _That’s where one of us should’ve said the L word._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how do we feel about this one, folks? It’s personally one of my favorites that I’ve written so far (and that could partly be because it’s the only other one I’ve written in its entirety at this point), but y’all let me know what you thought about it!! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! @chaoticlywise


	3. Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Sonia Kaspbrak’ the screen reads before the call goes to voicemail and the ‘one missed call’ notification pops up on his screen. He gapes for a moment, mouth forming words that he can’t seem to speak.
> 
> Suddenly, his breath doesn’t feel like it’s reaching his lungs and he slams his eyes shut, trying to stave off the incoming panic attack by taking measured breaths in and out, in and out-
> 
> “One toasted white chocolate mocha for you, sweetheart,” Richie says, and Eddie’s eyes snap open to watch him slide into the chair across from him. He still can’t breathe but that catches his attention, even through the sweeping, all consuming panic: sweetheart. 
> 
> Or: 
> 
> Month Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, I feel kinda bad about this fic because people kept commenting on the last 2 chapters, saying stuff like “I love soft reddie!!” “they’re so cute” and, uh, this chapter ain’t that, folks. I’m sorry in advance.
> 
> TW: past child abuse, panic attacks, past alcohol abuse

Eddie’s having a good fucking day. Really! It’s finally December and patches of snow make Portland look like a winter wonderland. Finals are just a week away but Eddie couldn’t be happier because winter break is right after that and it lasts almost a whole month. To top it all off, he’s not going back to Derry. 

He didn’t go back to Derry last year, either. Bev stayed in his dorm with him and that was Eddie’s favorite Christmas yet. Well, it would’ve been if he hadn’t had to spend that time avoiding his mom. Beverly kept an eye on his phone and deleted any messages Sonia sent, listened to the voicemails she left, and told him anything of importance. There wasn’t much news, but Eddie could always hear his mother’s crying voice, trying to guilt him into coming back home for the holidays. 

Bev’s the best. She’s like him in the way that they both had shitty parents. She _understood_ , and she hadn’t talked to her abusive dad since she moved out at thirteen to live with her aunt. She’s not even twenty years old yet and Eddie thinks she’s the bravest person he’s ever met. 

They’re gonna stay in the dorms again this year, but this time, it’s not just him and Bev; it’s Ben and Richie, too. Ben’s parents are lovely, Eddie’s had a few conversations on the phone with them and they were nothing but kind, but they desperately wanted to meet Bev so the two of them would go visit them on Christmas Eve and stay over into Christmas Day. That meant that Richie and Eddie would have some alone time and Richie already invited him to stay and have a nice Christmas in his apartment, since Stan and Bill would be out with their families. 

And that was another thing: Stan, Bill, and Mike insisted that they could stay but everyone knew that they’d have to make appearances at their families houses eventually. One by one, they regretfully told the group that was staying that they couldn’t. 

Eddie didn’t want to think about that bit of information right now, though. Right now, he was exactly where he wanted to be, with Richie’s gloved hand in his own as they walked down to the Starbucks closest to Eddie’s dorm to study for finals.

Richie hums Christmas songs under his breath and twirls Eddie every so often, when the song crescendos. Eddie laughs loudly, unabashed, even when they get odd stares from other people. When they aren’t dancing and avoiding ice patches, Richie intertwines their fingers and swings their hands wildly, elbows bumping into their backpacks full of schoolwork. 

They finally get to the Starbucks and Richie, ever the gentleman, opens the door for Eddie. As it turns out, gentleman is just another word for doormat, because another couple uses Richie holding the door open as a sign for them to go. They don’t even thank Richie once they’re out of the way, but the holiday festivities have put Richie in a particularly good mood since late November so he doesn’t say anything and follows Eddie inside once the couple is gone.

“People are so rude,” Eddie mutters lightly, even while Richie directs him to a smallish corner table with a hand on the small of Eddie’s back. “They couldn’t even say thank you? It takes less than two seconds.” 

Richie just shrugs, clearly not bothered, and helps Eddie out of his coat before pulling his seat out and gesturing for him to sit. “M’lady,” he says, tacking on a posh accent. Eddie laughs softly and whacks him on the arm. Richie grumbles, “now who’s being rude,” but quickly sits down across from him, shrugging off his own coat.

“Lemme get set up here and then I’ll go order our drinks,” Richie says, pulling out his laptop and overly large textbooks while Eddie does the same. 

They chat amiably for a couple minutes, about schoolwork, about finals, about their upcoming holiday plans. Eddie feels giddy with happiness: it’s stupidly domestic, not to mention that spending time with Richie has become one of his new favorite things to do.

“Alright,” Richie groans, standing up and stretching. “Time to get the ol’ bean juice. Whaddya want?” 

“Surprise me,” Eddie says, smiling when Richie merely raises a surprised brow; has Eddie mentioned that he’s in a good mood today? 

“You, Eddie Kaspbrak: King of Plans and Preparedness, want a surprise?” Richie asks, slowly. Eddie titters lightly and nods. Richie leans down and pecks a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips. “You are an enigma, Edward.”

Eddie watches Richie walk away briefly before huffing a soft laugh to himself and pulling his too large, faded pink sweater over his hands. He blows hot air into them but it doesn't do much so he instead starts to get his notecards out. 

He’s about to get to work when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He fumbles with his sweater paws but manages to get it out of his pocket on the last buzz. He just catches the caller ID from his peripheral and has to do a double take. He freezes.

_‘Sonia Kaspbrak’_ the screen reads before the call goes to voicemail and the _‘one missed call’_ notification pops up on his screen. He gapes for a moment, mouth forming words that he can’t seem to speak.

Eddie guesses he should’ve expected this eventually, what with the holidays being just a few weeks away, but he’d been so caught up in his plans and finals and the festivities and _Richie_ that he hadn’t really had time to process much else. 

Suddenly, his breath doesn’t feel like it’s reaching his lungs and he slams his eyes shut, trying to stave off the incoming panic attack by taking measured breaths in and out, in and out-

“One toasted white chocolate mocha for you, sweetheart,” Richie says, and Eddie’s eyes snap open to watch him slide into the chair across from him. He still can’t breathe but that catches his attention, even through the sweeping, all consuming panic: _sweetheart_. 

The word bounces around in his mind, echoing and reverberating. His chest flutters and constricts for a different reason and he feels warm and tingly all over. For a moment, nothing can touch him; he’s soaring up and above the clouds. He’s bursting at the seams with _love-_

But then, his phone buzzes in his lax hand and the moment is over. _‘One voicemail from Sonia Kaspbrak’_ pops up on his screen and he clutches the phone in a white knuckled grip. 

Richie hasn’t noticed Eddie’s internal struggle yet, busy trying to find a spot for his own drink without it being on any of his study materials. He’s talking just to talk and it’s comforting, in a way, saying, “they were out of the grande size so I just got you a venti. Hope that’s okay-”

“Richie,” Eddie chokes out. Richie’s head snaps up, eyes wide as he takes in Eddie’s face. He must look like shit because Richie suddenly looks very panicked. 

“What?” He asks, his soft, urgent voice just teetering on the edge of frantic. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Eddie says nothing, not sure if he’d be able to get the words out even if he tried. He hands the phone to Richie numbly and he takes it quickly, looking down at the screen. Richie looks back up at him, brows furrowed and lips pursed in confusion.

“I-” Richie stammers, cutting himself off. “I don’t understand?”

Eddie takes a shuddering breath and shivers, but not from the cold this time. His hands find the travel cup and he wraps his spindly fingers around it. The warmth of it burns against his numb fingers but it’s good—distracting. “Have I told you about my mom?”

Richie looks anxious, clasping his hands in front of himself and showing restraint like he never had before. Anyone who’s spent more than 5 seconds in a room with Richie knows that he’s a touchy, affectionate person and if Eddie’s right, then the look in Richie’s eye means that he would give just about anything to hold him right now but is unsure whether or not that would be okay. He hesitates even when he shakes his head ‘no’. 

“I always planned on telling you,” Eddie says softly. Embarrassingly, he can feel the burn of tears behind his eyes and the lump in his throat start to swell. He swallows and his voice is a shaky whisper when he continues, “but I didn’t want to ruin things. I didn’t want you to know how… how _weak_ I am.”

It’s quiet for a minute before Richie is slowly reaching his hand out across the table, gently prying one of Eddie’s hands off the cup and squeezing it lightly. His hand is warm, too, but it’s a good warmth. Grounding. 

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Richie says, tone as soft as the thumb he's running over Eddie’s knuckles now that he knows he won’t jerk away. “I don’t think there is anything you could tell me that would change my opinion of you.”

Eddie doesn’t like to be babied or coddled; it makes him feel weak, like his mom is still looming over his shoulder. Oppressing, smothering, manipulating. It makes him feel like he’s less than, like he’s being held down and trapped. Like people are implying that he can’t take care of himself. 

He never feels like that when he’s with Richie. 

A tear falls and Eddie hastily wipes it away with the back of his free hand. “God, this is so stupid,” he sniffles, face feeling uncomfortably hot. He’s very aware of where they are and the people around them, potentially staring and _judging_. 

“It’s not stupid if it upset you,” Richie says, still the poster boy for the perfect boyfriend. He suddenly lets go of Eddie’s hand and drums his fingers on the table. “You know what? Screw studying. Lets get outta here.”

Eddie’s head whips up disbelievingly. “Richie,” he admonishes lightly. “We can’t just pack up all our shit and _blow off_ studying for finals.”

“Sure we can,” Richie says brightly, standing up as he starts to put all his things away. “See? Here I am, packing up all my shit so we can blow off studying for finals. Easy peasy. Now, you try.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, dickwad,” Eddie says, finally putting his foot down by gripping Richie’s sleeve in his fist. Richie stops in his tracks and turns to look at Eddie, brows set in a hard, determined line. “Finals are _next week_ , Rich-”

“Exactly, and you’ve been studying for them for the past month,” Richie says easily, shrugging. Eddie opens his mouth to protest but Richie keeps talking before he can say anything. “Look, you and I both know you’re one of the smartest and hardest working people at Portland U. You’re beyond ready, so just… take a break.” 

Eddie flaters, then. His phone buzzes from where Richie placed it on the table in his haste to start packing his things up. They both look down at it and then back at each other. Eddie makes up his mind. 

“Lets go,” he says, standing, slipping back into his coat, and shoveling his stuff in his backpack. It's messy and disorderly and if Eddie was a little less panicked, he definitely would’ve put more thought into it. 

Richie nods, looking proud, Eddie notes as he shoves the last of his things in his bag and zips it up. Richie does the same, then offers his hand to Eddie, who takes it as he slips one strap of his backpack over a shoulder; it’ll be uncomfortable soon, overly weighty on one side, but Eddie doesn’t have the space in his brain to care. 

They slip out of the Starbucks, drinks forgotten in their rush to leave, and the biting December air cuts through his coat, making him shiver. Richie must notice because he lets go of Eddie’s hand and helps him into the other loop of his bag before slinging his arm around his shoulders, rubbing his upper arm to try and create a little heat. 

He doesn’t really pay attention as they walk, just allowing himself to breathe and listen to Richie ramble about nothing and everything he can think of. Not for the first time, Eddie finds himself thankful for Richie’s distaste of silence. 

It’s only when they enter Richie’s apartment building that Eddie’s brain logs back online, the warm air stinging his cold-to-the-touch cheeks and making his fingers tingle. Richie guides him to the elevator, pressing the button a few times, but they only have to wait a couple seconds for the door to ding and open. 

Richie’s apartment is on the fourth floor so it doesn’t take too long for the doors to reopen. There are no stops and Eddie is beyond grateful for that. 

The doors ding again and they quickly walk to Richie’s apartment. He fumbles with his keys momentarily before the lock clicks and Richie pushes it open, gesturing for Eddie to go in first. 

The apartment is relatively dark when he walks in because they forgot to open the blinds _again;_ it was nothing short of a miracle that they didn’t have silverfish. Eddie walks to the living room and opens the blinds, not saying anything about it like he usually would. Instead, he shrugs his coat and backpack off before sinking into the spot on the couch where Bill usually sits, imprinted from the past two years of him slouching there. 

Richie closes and locks the front door, slides out of his coat and backpack, toes off his shoes, then ambles towards the kitchen. Glasses clink lightly as he rummages through the cabinets and Eddie toes off his shoes, tucks his feet up under him, and ends up sitting crisscross. The sound of water running fills the empty apartment for a few seconds before turning off, leaving them in silence. 

Richie walks into the living room with a glass of water in hand and sits down gingerly next to Eddie, setting the glass down on the coffee table in front of them. Neither say anything, Richie watching Eddie for a reaction while Eddie ignores Richie’s pointed look, instead favoring to watch the water ripple before it stills all together. He sighs. 

“Where’s Stan and Bill?” Eddie asks, hoping to impede the inevitable conversation. Richie doesn’t look upset about it, though, happy enough just to have something to talk about and break the silence. 

“Class,” Richie says, shrugging. They lapse back into silence and Richie starts to fiddle with the sleeves of his sweater. “Do you want to, I dunno, talk about… anything?”

Eddie can tell he feels awkward. Eddie feels the same. How could he not? He was fine one minute and the next, he was having a panic attack in the middle of a Starbucks. Richie didn’t even know why. Shit. _He deserved to know why-_

Eddie takes in a sharp breath, slightly shaky, and lets it back out. “Yeah,” he says simply. “There’s some… stuff I have to tell you about me if we’re gonna continue to be a _‘we’_.”

“Yeah, of course,” Richie says, turning his body so he was facing Eddie, giving him his full attention. “Whatever you need to say. I’ll listen to whatever you feel comfortable sharing. This is a safe space, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, lips quirking up involuntarily before he shudders. Eddie decides the best way to do this was by diving in head first and he starts by saying, “ever heard of munchausen syndrome by proxy?”

Eddie explains the whole thing; the pills, the hospital visits, his asthma, his fear of needles, the panic attacks, his mother. Everything. Before now, the only people who knew outside his family were Beverly, Ben, and Mike. But now, Richie knew, too.

He once thought that maybe he’d feel better after telling people what happened to him but he never did; he only felt ashamed. He hated the look of pity his family gave him, the way his friends suddenly wanted to treat him like he was glass (even after he told them to stop, they still watched him closely). They all acted like he couldn’t take it, like he was weak, delicate, _sick-_

But he wasn’t. And Richie didn’t look at him like he was. Instead, there was understanding and sadness, but not pity. Unsurprisingly, there was some anger flashing around in his eyes (which was totally justified; Eddie remembered how angry and lost he’d felt when he found out that’s what it was. After years of enduring, he finally sat down and looked up the symptoms. He spent hours there until he found it. He was 16 at the time, and that was the night he knew he had to get out as soon as the opportunity presented itself). 

Eddie trails off after a bit, leaving them both in silence again. This time, it’s Eddie who’s fiddling and he reaches out for the glass of water for something to do. He takes a couple sips while Richie processes, then puts it back, unable to make eye contact. 

After a minute, Eddie inhales noisily and says, “I left without saying goodbye. I mean, what kind of son does that?” He asks, feeling familiar anger at himself rise. His voice trembles when he says, “I’m such a fucking coward.”

This, after everything, is what makes Richie startle, eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise before ducking his head to try and get Eddie to look him in the eyes. 

“You’re not a coward,” Richie says, shaking his head and bringing a hand up to cup Eddie’s cheek. Their eyes meet and Richie continues without missing a beat. “You did what you had to. No one can blame you for that. She abused you but you got out. That’s pretty brave, Eds.”

“She didn’t abuse me,” Eddie protests, voice clogged. “She never hit me, she would never-”

“You don’t have to hit someone for it to leave a mark,” Richie says, looking so, _so_ sad. “She manipulated you and _that’s_ abuse. I’m so proud of you. Have I ever told you that?”

Eddie shakes his head, sniffing. Richie smiles, swiping away one of Eddie tears. 

“Well, I am,” he says. “Proud that you had the guts to leave. Bill and Stan basically had to drag me out of my house. Literally, since the night they found me, I was basically dead on the kitchen floor.”

Eddie looks up sharply then, confusion and worry there. Richie looks caught, like he hadn’t meant for that to slip out. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Richie laughs quietly, awkwardly shifting and scratching the back of his head. He lowers his gaze, clearing his throat as he says, “my parents were pretty shitty, too. Specifically my dad.”

Eddie’s voice is quiet when he asks, “what happened?” Richie sighs.

“They didn’t, you know, trick me into thinking I was sick or anything. My mom ignored me most of the time. Just… acted like I wasn’t there unless she needed another beer. But my dad…” Richie laughs again, self deprecating and cold. Eddie _hates_ it. “He’d beat the shit outta me. Used to tell me I wouldn’t go anywhere in life and for a while, I believed him. But Stan and Bill… they got me out halfway through my senior year of high school and I lived with Bill for a bit. I wouldn’t be alive without them and I haven’t talked to my parents in- God, how long has it been? Two and a half years now, I think.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie chokes, one of his hands intertwining with Richie’s free one. “That’s… they shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re right,” Richie agrees, nodding. “They shouldn’t have done that. But your mom shouldn’t have done what she did either. So, tell me, what makes what happened to you any less significant than what happened to me?”

Eddie falters, opening his mouth to retort but finding… nothing. They both had it bad growing up, so there was no point in arguing who had it worse because it shouldn’t have happened to either of them in the first place. 

He sighs, the flight bleeding out of him. Richie smiles softly, encouragingly, and Eddie is putty in Richie’s hands, at this point. His emotions are running high and he blinks his eyes rapidly to force the tears away. 

“You’re brave as hell, Eds,” Richie murmurs, thumb stroking over his cheek. His expression is open and adoring and Eddie _knows_ he doesn’t deserve to be looked at like that but… but Richie saying those words so softly, _so_ _sincerely_ makes him want to believe that it’s true. “You’re the bravest, _strongest_ person I’ve ever met. You amaze me every day. You’ve been through hell and back and I’m so happy that I get to be here with you.”

“Richie,” Eddie chokes out, feeling the pressure behind his eyes grow more pressing, hot and stingy. “Rich, you don’t have to say this-”

Richie shakes his head vehemently, his other hand coming up so he can cradle Eddie’s face gently in both hands, like he’s something to be cherished, to be adored. “I don’t have to say it, you’re right. But it’s true,” he says, nodding even when Eddie looks like he might protest. He looks so sure of himself, so serious, that it’s almost like whiplash when their eye contact falters. Richie starts to shift nervously and he clears his throat before saying, “and… and Eddie, I’m gonna say something and you tell me if it’s too soon… fuck, I know it’s too soon, but- god. Okay. Eddie, I love you.”

They’re quiet for a few beats, eyes wide and anxious. They’re so close, they’re practically breathing the same air. Three words. Just three; simple and earth shattering at the same time. Eddie feels nervous, which isn’t all together strange, but what is strange is that it isn’t _bad_ . He doesn’t feel like he might fall into an unwanted panic attack. No, this is… it's _good_ -nervous. His brows twitch and for the second time that day, his mouth forms words that won’t come out.

Eddie’s taking too long to say anything and something in Richie’s face falls as he starts rambling apologetically, starting to pull back, to _pull away_ , and this is the final straw for Eddie. 

His breath catches and the tears break past the dam, falling fast and hot and unbidden as Eddie clutches at Richie’s shirt to keep him in place and leans into his space. Richie still cups his cheeks as if it’s second nature at this point, and their lips slot together like a puzzle. 

It feels like too much and not enough all at once; his hot tears mix with the warmth of Richie’s hands and lips against his still cold face. His stomach swoops. It means more than any kiss they’ve ever shared, more than anything they’ve ever done before, and it’s so sweet that his teeth ache. Butterflies fill his head and his heart and his stomach. 

They pull back and Eddie’s eyes open just in time to see a string of saliva snap between them, disconnecting their lips. It should gross him out but it doesn’t. He sniffs wetly and watches Richie’s eyes flutter open, too, full of tears and warmth and _love_ and-

“I love you, too,” Eddie says, a little breathless, a little stuffed up, but he means it. _God_ , he means it with every fiber of his being. To the moon and back. Hell, across the _universe_ and back for this beautiful, sweet, intelligent idiot that Eddie _loves_ and who loves him in return, broken pieces and all. 

This time, it’s Richie's turn to let his tears fall. He lets out a breathy laugh and surges forward, messily pressing his lips to Eddie’s. Their noses bump and their teeth clash when they smile too hard and it tastes salty with their mixed tears but it’s ten times as perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, did we like the more serious fic? Hope so because the next chapter is also pretty angsty. I have been updating the tags, too, but I’ll make sure I put trigger warnings in the notes up above (so, keep an eye out for those if that applies, is helpful to you, or you just wanna know in advance what you’re getting into)!
> 
> On that note, comments and kudos are always appreciated!! Stay safe and have a lovely day!!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! @chaoticlywise


	4. Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie slides in next to Eddie, slotting together perfectly with a lanky arm wrapping around his waist. It’s grounding, and something settles in Eddie immediately. 
> 
> “Hey, baby,” Richie says, nosing at his temple before leaving a kiss there. Eddie’s breath catches, not sure if it’s the kiss or the pet name that sends electricity zipping up his spine but not minding it at all either way. “Who’s this?”
> 
> “Uh, this is… Henry. He’s-”
> 
> “-an interested party,” Henry interrupts, a smug smile plastered to his face.
> 
> Or: 
> 
> Month Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO UPLOAD
> 
> Actually, I’m very sorry about this one in general. You thought I gave you angst in the last chapter?? Prepare yourselves, y’all.
> 
> TW: underage drinking, smoking (weed), non-consensual touching, homophobic language, swearing (fuck-word counter: 15), implied crossfading

Eddie hasn’t ever met a person who doesn’t like Mike. To be fair, he is probably one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet and Eddie seriously doubts he has a mean bone in his body. At this point, it’s just a fact of life that one person can’t possibly resist the true charmer that is Mike Hanlon. 

Mike was Eddie’s dorm mate back in freshman year, and he was probably the most ideal person to share a room with; he was tidy, never played music too loudly, and always did his work at reasonable hours so he wasn’t keeping Eddie up in the night with his desk lamp. He was considerate and once he and Eddie actually got to know each other, Mike would bring back coffees after his morning jog. 

He was athletic and had a scholarship through football. He was intimidating but not overly so. No, that title went to his friend Ben Hanscom, another football player. He was slightly shorter than Mike by a few inches but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in strength: he was  _ huge _ , and pure muscle. (Eddie would be lying if he said he hadn’t nursed a crush on Ben for a few weeks until he saw how absolutely  _ gone _ he was on Bev, the spitfire he met and quickly befriended in his freshman algebra class.)

Eddie considered himself extremely lucky, since they could’ve turned out to be the biggest douches on the planet but genuinely surprised him when they happened to be almost overly respectful and polite. 

Eddie didn’t think they would become such important fixtures in his life until Ben and Beverly started dating. Of course, Mike just naturally fit in because, again, how could someone  _ not _ like him? Eventually, they all began to hang out so much that it was weird to see one of them without the others. They’re the closest thing Eddie has to a real family and they actually became the first people outside his family to know about everything his mother did.

So, naturally, Eddie had been nervous when he decided it was finally time to introduce his friends to Richie (and his roommates, since they were practically joined at the hip) after nearly eight months of dating. Beverly, Ben, and Mike had been pestering him to let them meet Richie since they started talking but Eddie wanted to be sure this was something that could last before having his friends scrutinize someone he confessed his love to.

Here’s the issue: while Eddie’s used to his friends somewhat intimidating presences, other people are not. And it makes since; these are people he never,  _ ever _ would’ve approached had the situation not panned out exactly as it did. 

Mike and Ben look to be  _ very _ imposing figures: they’re two huge, muscular dudes who are on the football team and easily surpass six feet tall. Now, they don’t particularly  _ like _ conflict but aren’t afraid to roll someone like a drum if need be. It’s actually come in handy a few times, to have an extra couple pair of eyes looking out for him and Eddie gladly returned the favor. 

But it wasn’t them Eddie was truly worried about because under all that, they were big softies. If Eddie really liked Richie and he made him happy, then they would find a way to get over themselves if they didn’t like him. No, the bigger problems lied with Beverly. She didn’t take anyone’s shit and wasn’t afraid to all but curb stomp someone if they got a little too physical in all the wrong ways. 

That being said, Eddie truly does admire his friend's general “no fucks given” attitude, especially since they act as the physical manifestations of Eddie’s own personal safety blanket. Unfortunately,  _ ‘I’ll murder you  _ dead _ if you hurt my friends’ _ isn’t the best trait to put forward when meeting one of your best friends' significant other for the first time. 

It could’ve gone wrong in so many ways (Eddie made a list of 43 things and would’ve kept going if Stan hadn’t put a stop to it), but it… didn’t. It actually went better than Eddie had planned it to.

Richie, Stan, and Bill fit in with them seamlessly and effortlessly. It was as if they’d all been longtime friends, simply catching up instead of getting to know each other for the first time. 

Eddie had been  _ especially _ surprised when Beverly had taken such a strong liking to Richie, who had been tamer than usual (thank  _ god _ ) but still just  _ Richie _ enough that some of his more edgy jokes could’ve been misconstrued. She laughed at them, though, and even played off his jokes occasionally. 

They become fast friends and Eddie couldn’t have felt more relieved, even a month after they all met. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when they all start hanging out more together but… it kind of does; they get cheap Chinese takeout and eat it in the apartment. Beverly comes over to paint Richie’s nails every so often, and vice versa. Ben and Bill instate a movie night every Friday. Stan drags a  _ very _ enamored Mike to go watch birds at the park on the weekends. 

Eddie loves it. He loves  _ them _ . He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. 

And then Mike and Ben get invited to a party. 

It was the week before Valentine’s Day when a friend of Mike and Ben’s invited them over to his frat for a party they would be hosting. Now, don’t get him wrong, Eddie loves his friends but sometimes, he wonders if any of them have ever thought about a single decision they’ve ever made because Mike and Ben _accepted the invite to a party that would be happening_ _on a weekday_ without any further prompting. 

And it all goes downhill from there: Ben invites Beverly because they’re nearly inseparable, and Bev’s persuasion skills are unparalleled so the rest of them eventually get roped into their plans.  _ This _ is how Eddie finds himself in the middle of a fraternity house the night before Valentine’s Day. 

It’s a classic frat party, complete with fuck-boys and red solo cups filled to the brim with truly lethal amounts of alcohol. Music is blasting and Eddie’s been itching to reach for his inhaler that he doesn’t have anymore due to the smoke-filled rooms since they got there a little over two hours ago.

But all this is worth it when he sees Richie; his eyelids are slightly droopy and his movements are loose, an effect of the  _ astounding _ amount of alcohol he’s managed to consume. He’s smiling and laughing and chatting and his hands hardly leave Eddie’s body since they’ve been there. 

Eddie’s starting to think he may actually  _ like _ parties. 

So, he lets himself go loose for the night. The cheap alcohol burns on its way down and distantly, he knows he’s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning but that’s Future Eddie’s problem. Present Eddie is worried about where to get more. 

The later it gets, the more sober Eddie tries to be and the less he actually succeeds. He dances and drinks and laughs for what feels like hours. He splits up from the majority of the group and ends us with Beverly and Richie for the most of it, singing the songs they know and trying to sing the ones they don’t and it all ends up off tune but it’s fun. Richie’s eyes sparkle in the low lighting and there’s a layer of fine glitter dusting any bit exposed skin it can find. His glasses slip down his nose and his shirt sticks to his torso and his smile is radiant. 

Richie is so pretty and Eddie is so,  _ so _ lucky. 

At some point, they slow down and Richie grabs Eddie’s attention to tell him he’s going to sit down for a bit. Eddie nods distractedly, turning back to the conversation he was having with Bev, and Richie is gone. 

He’s definitely a lightweight and all his friends know it, too, because not another ten minutes go by since Richie left when his and Bev’s red solo cups are replaced by water bottles and Mike’s semi-amused, semi-worried face is suddenly right in front of theirs as he tells them to follow him so they can go sit down and sober up. 

Beverly grumbles about it lightheartedly, but they both uncap the water bottles and take a few sips. Eddie wonders if water always tastes this good or if that’s just Drunk Eddie taking the reins. 

Mike guides them to the living room, where it seems the rest of his friends have congregated over an unspecified amount of time. 

Bill reclines on a beanbag chair that is an absolutely  _ garish _ shade of chartreuse. Next to him, Stan sits on a couch, the middle seat is vacant, and then Ben is sitting on the seat furthest away from him. Eddie thinks that’s odd until, wonders if maybe they got into a fight or something, until Mike goes to sit down in the free spot, a little closer to Stan than strictly necessary. Beverly spots Ben quickly and makes her way over, making herself comfortable on his lap. 

Eddie’s eyes scan over their small group until they land on Richie, who is taking up the entire loveseat with his obnoxiously gangly limbs.  _ God _ , Eddie loves him. 

Richie, it seems, noticed him as soon as he walked into the living room. His eyes are heavily lidded but he looks at Eddie like he hung the moon. They stare at each other for a moment and Eddie suddenly feels an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. 

Then, Beverly cuts in with a snide comment, groaning, “ugh, ew, get a  _ room _ , you two.”

“Yeah,” Stan interjects, looking unfairly sober even as he takes a sip from his cup. “Nobody wants to see you eye-fucking each other.”

This snaps Richie out of his Eddie-induced stupor and he turns to Stan, saying, “ _ please _ , you can’t even say anything when we all know who you’ve been imagining boning all night.”

Stan flushes instantly, averting his eyes. Luckily, Mike doesn’t seem to notice, too enraptured with something on his phone. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, walking to sit down next to Richie. Unfortunately, Eddie forgets that Richie is a stubborn asshole most of the time and now is no exception.

“Oh, c’mere, Eds,” Richie says brightly, wrapping his fingers loosely around Eddie’s wrist and pulling until he settles into Richie’s lap instead of the cushion next to him where he’d intended on sitting. 

Eddie’s uncapped water sloshes and he’s briefly afraid that he might spill it on the front of his shirt but in a swift move, one of Richie’s hands comes up to wrap around the bottle and Eddie’s hand. His other hand drops Eddie’s wrist gently and it settles on the small of his back, balancing and steadying. 

Eddie sighs in relief, turning his head to face Richie. “That was stupid,” he deadpans. Richie grins, eyes crinkling around the edges. He looks so stupidly fond and it only makes Eddie glare harder at him. “I could’ve spilled my drink.”

“Oh, but it’s so romantic!” Richie waxes, pulling Eddie in closer. “Reminds me of how we met.”

“How  _ did _ you two meet?” Beverly asks, her words slurred as she props her head in her hand and rests an elbow on her knee. She leans forward curiously, eyes narrowed playfully, and Eddie knows this is not going to end well for him as the rest of the group turns their attention towards them. “Our boy here told us he met you at a party but he never goes into detail. We’re curious.”

“Eddie!” Richie mockingly admonishes, turning to glare at him. “How could you not tell them the details of our torrid love affair-!”

“Because, dumbass, it wasn’t  _ torrid _ ,” Eddie hisses out, pushing Richie’s chest lightly. “And there wasn’t an affair! You have  _ got _ to stop telling people that. I’m pretty sure that one girl from your bio class thinks I’m a homewrecker.” 

Richie sighs lovingly, seemingly caught up in a memory before Ben clears his throat. He snaps back into it quickly and launches into the story with an awful posh accent. “You see, it was at a party, much like this one,” he says, squeezing Eddie’s hip lightly. “Our dear Eds was, how shall I put it? Absolutely shit-faced. Drunk off his ass.”

The group lets out startled laughs and Stan is the only one polite enough to cover his smile by bringing his cup up to his lips, pretending to take a sip. The effect is ruined by his jumping shoulders but the effort is appreciated nonetheless. Eddie groans, leaning down until his burning face is buried in the crook of Richie’s neck; he’s heard this story one too many times and it still manages to embarrass him every time.

“You can laugh,” Richie encourages, taking the water bottle away from Eddie and putting it elsewhere before his now free hand comes up to card through Eddie’s hair, scratching at his scalp lightly. “It’s funny! It wasn’t funny then, of course, but now it’s fun to look back on. We ran into each other, literally, and ended up spilling my drink all over the front of my shirt and then he threw up in a houseplant. He clearly has a flair for the dramatics.” 

Eddie groans again and he can feel one of Richie’s hands rub soothingly over his back in big, slow circles. “What happened after that?” Mike (the  _ traitor _ ) asks, genuine curiosity in his tone. 

“Why, the best part, of course!” Richie crows dramatically. “I, being the gentleman I am-” there are derisive snorts from the group at this, which Richie completely ignores, “-helped our poor Eddie Spaghetti to the bathroom, where he threw up in the toilet multiple times. Stan and Bill were there for that, actually, weren’t you two?”

“Unfortunately,” Bill mutters lightly and the group laughs quietly. 

“After that, I helped the poor guy back to his dorm, where I conveniently  _ didn’t _ meet Mikey, wonder where  _ you _ were-” Eddie peaks out right as Richie throws a teasing look at Mike and he blushes, eyes darting away bashfully, “-and stayed until I was sure he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit,” Richie says, grip growing a little tighter at the end. “In the morning, we exchanged numbers and, well, the rest is history.”

“Very cute,” Beverly decides, and Eddie can practically hear her nodding approvingly. 

Eddie finally pulls his face out of the relative safety of Richie’s neck, hoping his face isn’t as red as it still feels, and curls his arm around the back of Richie’s neck, leaning forward until he can press a sweet kiss to Richie’s temple. There are mocking coo’s from the group and Richie flips them the bird. 

They sit there for some time, talking and laughing and trying to get more sober but not being all that successful. It isn’t until Eddie feels the uncomfortable tightness in his lungs that he pushes away from a grabby Richie and excuses himself. The smokey room was clearly starting to get to him and, although his asthma hadn’t bothered him in years (not that he ever actually  _ had it _ , thank you, Sonia Kaspbrak), he didn’t want to make it into a big deal. He just needed some fresh air. 

Eddie finds another stack of red solo cups and absentmindedly grabs one, walking through the kitchen to fill it up with a mix of vodka and orange juice (just a  _ little _ heavy on the vodka) before finding a back door, leading out to the deck. 

It’s pretty empty out there, just him and another group of people who are talking animatedly about something he doesn’t focus on. He puts his drink down on the railing and takes some deep breaths, starting to feel the itch in his lungs subside. His phone buzzes in his pocket.

It’s a text from Richie reading,  _ ‘where did u go? r u cominf back? _ ’ 

Eddie huffs, slightly amused as he types back,  _ ‘on back deck, needed some air _ ’. It doesn’t take long for Richie to respond with two thumbs up emojis. Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. 

Soon enough, Richie ambles out onto the deck, phone in hand and texting someone. He looks up after a moment, searching with furrowed brows but he practically lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree when he spots Eddie, quickening his pace to get to his side just a little faster. As soon as he’s there, he grabs Eddie’s hand and leans in to press a kiss to his hairline. 

“Everything okay?” He asks as he pulls away and Eddie’s shocked to find real worry there. Richie cocks his head to the side, a confused smile quirking at his lips. Eddie is suddenly reminded of a small puppy looking at him. “You seemed like you were having fun and then you just… left.”

“I just needed some air,” Eddie rushes to reassure, squeezing their intertwined hands and smiling softly. Richie raises a critical brow but doesn’t question it. 

They stand out there for a few minutes and the group from earlier clears out.  _ It’s pretty late now, anyway, _ Eddie thinks as he looks at the time on his phone,  _ ‘2:57AM’.  _ People still had class tomorrow, even if he didn’t. 

Eddie’s just about to ask Richie if he wants to head home for the night when he snorts. “Uh oh,” he says, smiling at his phone. Eddie takes a sip of his drink, turning his attention to Richie.

“What?”

“Bev’s got a blunt,” he laughs, showing Eddie a blurry, close up picture of Bev, clearly a selfie on Snapchat. She has her index and middle finger held up in a peace sign with the blunt situated precariously between them. The caption reads,  _ ‘bout 2 get fucked up, wanna joi n??!? _ ’ and Ben can be seen in the background, probably chasing after her. He looks a little tipsy himself but much more put together than Bev. He must be the designated driver tonight. “This has the potential to be  _ very _ interesting.”

Eddie huffs and takes another sip of his drink. He grimaces; the amount of alcohol he put in it really had to be illegal. Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand, snapping a picture of himself with his tongue lolling out of his mouth and throwing up a peace sign. He types something onto the snap and sends it. 

After a minute of waiting, his phone pings again and he says, “think I might go smoke with Bev.” He leans down so he can have a semblance of privacy, which is unnecessary with how empty the deck is now, but Eddie still shivers involuntary, something hot and wanting stirring in his gut when Richie’s lips brush the shell of his ear. “Do you wanna come with?”

Eddie is snapped out of his thoughts (that were quickly growing less PG-13 by the second) and shakes his head, stomach sinking a little. “The smoke in there has actually kinda been bothering me,” Eddie admits reluctantly, hating the way he can see the joy in Richie’s eyes dim ever so slightly. He doesn’t look angry or irritated; he looks  _ guilty _ . 

“I don’t have to,” Richie says quickly but gently, placing a hand on Eddie’s arm and leaning around to try and catch his eye. “Was that why you left? Your asthma?” 

“No, no,” Eddie waves him off, feeling stupid for making Richie worry about him; they were at a party, after all, they were here to relax and to let off a little steam. Eddie makes a shooing motion towards the door and says, “well, yes the smoke is why I left but it’s okay, Rich, really. It’s a party. We’re here to have fun and you shouldn’t feel like you have to babysit me all night.”

Richie’s quiet for a minute before he wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. Richie rocks them side to side in time to the music and Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t just a little turned on. They’re quiet, listening to the music distantly blast from inside, before Richie murmurs, “I don’t feel like I have to babysit you. I want you to have fun, and honestly, if you’re having a good time, I am, too. I just wanna spend time with you and we can do that anywhere. We could leave right now, if you wanted, and I would be perfectly happy.”

Eddie blames it on the alcohol he’s had but even he knows he’s sobered up quite a bit while he was in the living room and is no longer drunk enough to bring out his emotional-drunk side. No, the tears that spring up in his eyes are entirely from Sober Eddie. 

He turns in Richie’s grasp, placing his palms flat on Richie’s chest. He smiles up at Richie and they both lean in at nearly the same time, meeting the other halfway, kissing sweetly. Richie’s kisses never fail to send butterflies tingling through his chest and stomach. 

Richie tries to deepen the kiss, nipping lovingly at Eddie’s bottom lip, but Eddie pulls back and absolutely  _ beams _ up at Richie’s slightly put out expression. “I love you,” he says, feeling somewhat awestruck. Richie’s eyes glisten and Eddie pushes him away lightly, playfully, as he says, “Beverly isn’t a patient woman, Rich. If you’re not there soon, she’ll have smoked half that joint without you.”

“More romantic words have never been spoken, Eds,” Richie says, taking on a British accent and tipping his imaginary hat at him. Eddie laughs and swats at Richie’s ass as he turns away to go back inside the house. Before he’s gone completely back inside, Richie turns back like he’s forgotten something extremely important and rushes back to Eddie, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. As he pulls back, he whispers, “I love you, too.”

Richie goes back inside and Eddie turns around so his back is towards the door again. It’s too dark to see much of anything in the backyard but he can see the distant shape of trees, a chain link fence, and a few other houses lights through the tree line.

It’s a little foggy tonight and there’s a heavy cloud blanketing the stars and moon away. His breath puffs in clouds ahead of him and he wraps his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm. He’d go back inside soon, pester Mike or Bev for a little bit and then see if Richie wanted to go but for now, he was content. 

The back door squeaks quietly as it opens and someone else steps onto the deck. Eddie glances back, expecting to see Richie or maybe one of his friends coming to find him but it’s a guy he doesn’t know. He’s backlit from the porch light shining on him so Eddie doesn’t get a good look at his face before he starts to feel self conscious for looking at him so long and he turns away. 

The guy's shoes creak on the old wood, footsteps loud in the quiet of the night and the distantly playing music and Eddie comes to the horrifying realization that the guy is walking towards him. He’s just about to jump ship and head back inside right as the guy leans onto the railing next to him, far too close and bracketing him away from the door.

“Hey, cutie,” the guy rasps, his roaming eyes just on the cusp of leering. Eddie shudders, the arousal he was feeling earlier with Richie vanishing into thin air. “What’s your name?”

Eddie gives him a once over; he’s not completely unfortunate looking, but he definitely looks like a sweaty, twenty-something who  _ isn’t gay but kinda wants to experiment _ . Eddie remembers the time before he was dating Richie ( _ ‘the dark ages,’ _ Bev had joked once). It was his freshman year of college and he was no longer being hovered over by his mother. He knows he made some decisions he regrets because of all that new freedom. If this guy had approached him back then, Eddie definitely would’ve considered going to whatever dumpster fire he was calling home at the time.

But this isn’t then: Eddie’s  _ happy _ and he’s got someone amazing that he loves and who loves him in return. So, Eddie scoffs a laugh and turns back to his drink, saying, “not interested.”

The guy laughs, rough and douchey, and Eddie does not like the sound of that  _ at all _ . “Never heard that one before,” the guy says, hand coming down to rest on the juncture of Eddie’s neck and shoulder. His thumb massages into the skin there, hard and uncomfortably warm. He slides up close to Eddie, free hand brushing down his arm and quickly getting  _ way _ too close to his ass for comfort. “I’m Henry-”

“What the fuck part of  _ not interested _ didn’t you understand, asshole?” Eddie hisses, interrupting the guy (Henry, apparently) and pushing him away. He doesn’t stumble back nearly as far as Eddie would’ve liked and he huffs angrily, feeling repulsed and thinking that now would be the perfect time for Mike or Ben or Beverly to make an appearance; they were always better at handling this stuff than he was. 

Irritatingly enough, Henry doesn’t even really look too put off by Eddie’s clear disinterest. In fact, he may actually look more interested in him now, which was exactly the opposite effect Eddie had been going for. He laughs, and it’s genuinely the most unsettling and chilling thing he’s ever heard. Eddie  _ hates _ it. “Playing hard to get, I see how it is,” Henry says, expression and tone turning dark and  _ angry _ . “That’s fine, but I thought a twink like you would be  _ begging _ to let someone like me dick you down.”

Eddie doesn’t even have time to fully comprehend that, his brain going into overdrive and screaming at him to  _ get the fuck out _ , when another, much more familiar presence makes itself known. Richie slides in next to Eddie, slotting together perfectly with a lanky arm wrapping around his waist. It’s grounding, and something settles in Eddie immediately. 

“Hey, baby,” Richie says, nosing at his temple before leaving a kiss there. Eddie’s breath catches, not sure if it’s the kiss or the pet name that sends electricity zipping up his spine but not minding it  _ at all _ either way. “Who’s this?”

The tone he uses is so cold, _so unlike_ _Richie_ , that Eddie actually has to look up to see his face to make sure that it _is_ Richie standing next to him; Eddie’s never heard him sound like that and knows that he never wants that harsh, cold tone directed at him ever. 

Eddie fumbles, feeling a little at a loss. Some distant, gleeful part in his brain wants to revel in that sweet little nickname. He wants to turn around and press his lips to Richie’s until they’re puffy and kiss-swollen. At the same time, he wants to recoil. He wants to go back to his dorm and curl up there, feeling thoroughly violated. Instead, he stammers, “uh, this is… Henry. He’s-”

“-an interested party,” Henry interrupts, a smug smile plastered to his face. Eddie actually feels Richie twitch, gripping his waist a smidge more firmly. Henry’s eyes skim over Richie’s hand, placed immovably on Eddie’s hip and looks, for a lack of better wording,  _ really fucking confused _ . “You guys friends, or somethin’?” Henry drawls and Eddie barely has time to think,  _ this is gonna end poorly  _ before Richie is speaking again.

“Oh, yeah,” he says with false pleasantry, a little chuckle stuck in there to really sell it. “We’re BFF’s. Best  _ Fucking _ Friends, emphasis on the fucking.”

Henry’s mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ and he backs up a little bit.  _ Fucking finally _ .

“Damn, dude. Chill,” he says, even if Richie didn’t even really sound all that hostile. Henry’s hands shoot up in a  _ I surrender _ type of way as he backs up more. He points to Eddie accusingly and says, “I wasn’t tryin’ to steal your bitch. It’s his fault, anyway. He shoulda told me he was already getting fucked by someone if he didn’t want me to take him back to my room.”

Richie looks speechless for a moment, mouth parting in disbelief, and then clears his throat somewhat awkwardly, saying, “there’s so many things wrong with what you just said.”

After a minute of probably the most awkward silence of Eddie’s  _ life _ , Henry actually starts to look agitated and he scoffs. “Whatever,” he says, turning to go back inside. “I’m leavin’.”

Richie smiles sharply, waving as he mockingly calls, “see ya’ ‘round, bud!”

They’re quiet for a moment after that and Eddie feels himself settle a little more, losing that tense line in his shoulders he didn’t even know was there. He shivers again, this time from the cold, and leans into Richie’s side. “Are you okay?” Richie asks after he does this, trying to look down and get a read on Eddie’s expression. 

“I’m…” Eddie cuts himself off, really thinking about that; was he okay? No, he wasn’t. He felt uncomfortable and icky and  _ exhausted _ . He sighs again and feels Richie pillow his cheek on top of Eddie’s head. “I’m just tired. And tipsy.”

Richie laughs softly and the tension starts to melt away. “Oh, good. Drunk Eddie is  _ much _ more fun than Sober Eddie,” he quips. Eddie elbows him gently and shoots him a half-assed glare. “I’m kidding! But seriously, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says automatically, actively avoiding eye contact. Richie starts running a hand over his upper arm soothingly.

“It's not,” Richie says back gently.

Eddie doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it; on Richie’s words or what just happened. He finally responds, voice soft and slightly choked up as he says, “I know.”

Richie lets go of him then, to Eddie’s surprise, before enveloping him in a hug. Eddie’s arms fold back around Richie unconsciously, fisting the back of his shirt.

Eddie huffs a few shaky breaths and doesn’t allow himself to cry, even though Richie is whispering,  _ ‘it’s okay to be upset, Eds, you can cry.’  _

After a few minutes, a few drunk partygoers stumble out onto the deck, laughing obnoxiously loud and slurring their words. Eddie finally pulls away from Richie and firmly looks him in the eyes, face serious. 

“Richie?” Eddie asks, voice soft despite his stony expression. 

“Hmm?” Richie responds, turning his gaze downward to look at Eddie. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Eddie says, just loud enough to be heard over the drunken singing that has started from the other side of the deck. 

Richie lets out a startled sound that quickly morphs into a laugh. “Atta boy,” he says, squeezing Eddie’s arm reassuringly. “Lets go tell the others and blow this popsicle stand.”

* * *

Eddie’s not sure what Richie tells the others but none of them look particularly angry or glance at him worriedly so he assumes they don’t know anything about what happened. Whatever they do know, it’s probably very little of the actual truth and Eddie is incredibly thankful for that.

Bill decides to leave with them, Ben still chasing Beverly around and Stan and Mike having disappeared into the throngs of people. Bill walks a little ways ahead of them on the sidewalk, one hand shoved in his pocket and the other holding his phone as he scrolls through his social media. 

One of Eddie’s hands is clasped firmly in one of Richie’s larger, warmer ones. They don’t swing them jovially like they usually do and the air feels charged with something Eddie can’t decipher. 

“Thank you,” Eddie says after a few minutes, and Richie looks down at him, confused. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“What, with Henry? Of course I did,” Richie says incredulously. 

Eddie sighs, squeezing Richie’s hand lightly. “You didn’t,” Eddie says again, ignoring Richie fervently shaking his head. Richie looks ready to argue but Eddie stops him by saying, “I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“That’s not fair,” Richie huffs softly and Eddie already knows it’s not. 

Richie still looks like he wants to say something but Eddie shoots him a look before he can; Eddie’s silently grateful for the way Richie’s mouth shuts with an audible click. 

They’re quiet for a few moments and Eddie can practically feel the way Richie tenses like he does before he says something particularly idiotic. A sly smile makes Richie’s lips quirk upwards and Eddie’s about to ask him about it when he says in a way that’s almost so absenminded that Eddie might’ve thought he was being serious had he not known him so well, “I mean, we  _ are _ fucking. I just thought he should know.”

Eddie lets out a surprised laugh, glad for the change in topic and the way the tension finally dissipates completely, shaking his head at Richie. “You’re stupid,” he says, far too fondly for someone he just called  _ ‘stupid’ _ .

“What?” Richie asks rhetorically, his free hand coming up to clutch his heart dramatically. Then he shrugs, a look of consideration on his face, saying, “well, I totally could’ve imagined these last eight months. And that’s an actual possibility, since I have no idea how I got someone as gorgeous as you to date me.”

Eddie laughs again, starting to swing their arms as they walk. “You’re unreal, Rich.”

“No,  _ you _ are,” Richie counters. “Or did you not just hear the thing I said about this all being in my head?”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, stopping them so he can stand on his tiptoes and lean in for a kiss. Richie leans down automatically, meeting him halfway like he always does. 

“You don’t gotta tell me twice if this is the way you shut me up,” Richie murmurs against Eddie’s lips. Eddie grins, feeling like nothing could ruin this moment, not even Henry, when-

“Honestly, can you two wait to fuck each other until you have some privacy?” Bill calls, also having stopped to wait for his friends to catch up. “I don’t really want to have to bail you out when you guys get arrested for public indecency.”

Richie sighs, “yeah, yeah,” even as he’s still intertwined with Eddie. Then, he gets that mischievous look in his eye again and he presses a sloppy kiss to Eddie’s cheek. Eddie startles and tries to pull away but Richie is quicker and much more of an asshole so he holds him in place with a firm hand around his waist, still pressing wet kisses all over his face. He can hear Bill’s exhausted sigh from a few feet away. 

“You’re disgusting!” Eddie shrieks between his laughter, feeling Richie’s smile against his face. 

Richie finally lets him go with a sharp grin, and Eddie wipes his cheek. “You love it,” Richie snipes back.

“I love _ you _ ,” Eddie corrects, pinching the little bit of fat on Richie’s side in retaliation. This time, it’s Richie that startles and he instinctively grabs Eddie’s hand before it can fall back to his side, bringing the hand up to his lips and kissing it before intertwining their fingers. 

“Let's get going, or else Billiam might leave us behind,” Richie jokes, raising his voice enough for Bill to hear. “I have class again in the morning so I can take you back to your dorm if you want.”

“Or we could just go back to your place,” Eddie says, unthinkingly. Richie raises his brows, a smirk lighting up his features and Eddie blushes, realizing the implications of his statement. “You know what I mean, asshole. There'll be less stops this way and it's already way past your bedtime.”

“Oh, Mister Kaspbrak,” Richie sing-songs, voice taking on a Southern Belle twinge. He fake swoons, putting a hand up to his forehead. “What a way with words you have.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Tozier,” Eddie scoffs. Richie’s laugh follows them as Eddie leads them down the sidewalk, towards an exasperated Bill. 

Eddie knows they still have to talk about things; he refuses to leave things as they are, with Richie still upset and leaving his friends in the dark, but… he thinks he deserves this little pocket of light-heartedness they’ve created. So, for now, he lets himself laugh at Richie’s jokes and Bill’s teasing, hand still firmly clasped in Richie’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, I know the ending feels a little rushed and that was partially the reason it took me so long to upload this chapter bc I was afraid it didn’t really flow but I didn’t want to end this chap on a sad note:// let me know what y’all thought anyway!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! @chaoticlywise


	5. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, love,” Richie whispers, placing a kiss to Eddie’s hairline and Eddie’s heart soars at the little nickname. 
> 
> It was kind of pathetic, the effect nicknames like sweetheart and baby and—most recently, apparently—love, had on him. He was attention starved and to Richie, it was like that was a personal affront. Not like Eddie minded, of course, because the way Richie fixed it was by showering him with affection. 
> 
> “I’m not,” Eddie says, voice shaking. “She’s a horrible person and an even worse mother.”
> 
> “Still,” Richie persists. “It couldn’t have been easy. You did it, though. It’s over.”
> 
> Or:
> 
> Month Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all, I’m BACK and I am VERY aware that it’s been a month since I uploaded this fic. Life has been all kinds of hectic and I’ve just needed to be with my friends for a little bit. We’re all good now, though, so here’s this chapter at last! Enjoy!
> 
> TW: panic attacks, language, Sonia Kaspbrak (she’s her own warning), implied vomiting

This week has been…  _ long _ . It’s been the kind of week where the hits just keep coming and Eddie can’t catch a break. 

First, Eddie had to cancel his brunch plans with Mike on Monday because his car broke down and he had to take it to the shop. It had really just gone downhill from there. 

Tuesday hadn’t been particularly rough except for the fact that Eddie had  _ completely _ forgotten about the quiz in his Econ class. He’d been so busy with figuring out where he was going to get the 500 dollars he needed to fix his car that he’d pushed everything else out of his mind. 

Wednesday, his aunt Betty called and ambushed him with questions on when he was going to visit his mom, as apparently Sonia had put her younger sister up to the call. It just got worse when he and Bev got into a _serious_ argument on whether or not he should just call her, _because_ _what if something’s wrong?_

Bev had eventually said,  _ ‘fuck your mom,’ _ and Eddie couldn’t understand why he got  _ so angry _ about it because, yeah, fuck his mom; he had very few good memories of her. It ended with Eddie storming out of her dorm, Bev, Ben, and Mike—who were the only other people there to witness their fight—calling after him. 

By the time Thursday rolled around, Eddie was in serious need of the dinner he and Richie planned with Stan and Bill at their apartment. Then, Mike stopped by and Bill and Stan invited him to stay for the meal. It wasn’t until they were eating that Mike said anything about his and Bev’s fight, much to the others' surprise because Eddie hadn’t mentioned anything about it. 

He’d hoped that he could just privately talk to Bev and sweep it all under the rug because if the rest of his friends knew he was thinking about calling his mom, at  _ least _ one of them would try to steal his phone until they could convince him that was a monumentally bad idea. 

Needless to say, the rest of dinner that night had been extremely awkward. 

It’s closing in on 11 o’clock on Friday night now, and Eddie is  _ still _ sitting at his desk, staring at his nearly blank Word document. He’s thankful now more than ever for his insight to live in a single dorm this year; he still felt bad about the late nights he pulled occasionally when he lived with Mike, usually leading to neither of them getting a whole lot of rest. Tonight was proving to be one of those nights, too, and Eddie could feel a tension headache building up. At least when he lived with Mike, he’d keep Eddie caffeinated throughout the night. 

The blinking cursor taunts him, along with the few words he has written. The paper isn’t due until Monday but he wants to get as much of it out of the way now because he plans on apologizing to Bev tomorrow, and that’s bound to end up being an all day thing. 

His phone lights up and buzzes, and the sudden noise makes Eddie jump. He pulls his eyes away from his laptop and watches momentarily as his phone nearly vibrates off the desk with every ignored ring. Eddie sighs; he would never get any work done at this rate. 

The caller ID reads  _ ‘Aunt Betty’ _ and Eddie’s tempted to let it go to voicemail because what could she  _ possibly _ be doing calling him this late at night? 

The thought takes root in the back of his brain and grates at him because what  _ was _ a middle-aged woman doing calling her nephew this late? She had kids of her own, ones she could bother, so this  _ must _ involve him somehow, right?

Against his better judgment, Eddie picks up the phone and presses  _ ‘answer call’ _ before he can think too much more about it.

“Hey, aunt Betty,” Eddie sighs into the receiver, picking up a stray pen and clicking it a few times to distract himself. He leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, Eddie,” she says back and Eddie notices immediately how…  _ uneasy _ she sounds. “I’m sorry. Everything’s fine, I just thought you’d be asleep by now.”

She trails off and the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck rises. Slowly, Eddie says, “are you sure everything’s okay, aunt Betty?”

“Well,” she breathes into the phone and static rushes through the speaker so loudly, Eddie has to pull it away from his ear. “There’s… someone who’d like to speak to you, dear.”

“O...kay?” Eddie says, tone lilting up in his confusion; was this the reason she called him so late? Because someone wanted to talk to him? Couldn’t it have waited? 

Eddie listens intently as the phone is passed to someone else and heavy breathing comes through the speaker. No one says anything for a long moment and then-

“Eddie-bear?” The new voice says and Eddie freezes, back straightening. Her voice is crackling and tinny over the line but he’d know his mother’s sickeningly sweet cadence anywhere. 

“Mom?” Eddie chokes, mouth dry and brain feeling like it was chock full of cotton. His jaw goes slack and his eyes are wide and unblinking. 

“Oh, Eddie,” she says gleefully, like she’s  _ won _ something. “I’ve been so worried about you. I keep calling and you never pick up-”

She keeps talking but Eddie doesn’t hear it; it’s all too much, too surreal. It’s like he’s right back in the kitchen of his childhood home, Sonia pacing in front of him and chastising him for being too crass or brash or reckless. His  _ mother _ counting out all his pills— _ placebos, fake, not real, not real,  _ **_not real_ ** —and making him show her his empty mouth after he swallowed. 

He remembers throwing them up after finding out they were fake, the knowledge of something in his stomach that  _ wasn’t supposed to be _ was too upsetting. He still doesn’t know how Sonia never caught onto him, what with her hypervigilance. 

“-I’ve missed you, sweetie,” she’s saying as he tunes back in, and the term of endearment snaps him out of his stupor. Something about it makes him irrationally angry and inexplicably  _ afraid _ . He squeezes his phone, knuckles turning white. 

“Are you kidding me?” Eddie interrupts, voice nothing more than a harsh whisper. “Are you  _ fucking _ kidding? Did you get aunt Betty to call me just so you could talk to me?”

“Edward,” Sonia admonishes. “You know how I hate that type of language-”

“Well, I’m an adult, so I guess you’re just going to have to get over yourself,” Eddie seethes, surprised at his own rage. His voice doesn’t shake from the panic bubbling just under the surface, but instead from wrath. He closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep, calming breath. “Why are you calling me?”

Sonia’s quiet for a moment, like she’s shocked by Eddie’s outburst. She clears her throat. “Eddie, I just wanted to check in on you,” she says, voice  _ much _ softer, almost acquiescent. 

Eddie starts to feel his ice-cold rage thaw because… maybe she really  _ was _ just worried about him. He was her only child, after all, and what had he done? He’d up and left as soon as he could.

“What do you want?” Eddie murmurs softly, feeling distant. “Is… is something wrong?”

“What, can’t a mother call her son just to talk to him?” She scoffs, sounding offended. “Everything is  _ fine _ , Eddie,” she says and Eddie sighs in relief, hoping to speed the rest of this conversation up so he can just go to bed and deal with the aftermath of this conversation in the morning, but she continues on. “Well. There’s actually  _ one _ thing.”

“Sure, ma,” Eddie humors her. “What’s up?”

“I suppose I’m just wondering when you’re going to come back home,” she says. “I want to see you, Eddie, it’s been so long. You were so skinny when you left.”

_ Probably because I threw up all those microwaved meals after I ate them so I could get rid of those pills, _ Eddie thinks bitterly. He doesn’t say this, though. Instead, he says, “I’m not coming back to Derry, ma.”

The silence is deafening, displeased, and then she suddenly barks out a laugh. Eddie’s head rears back away from the phone, wincing at the noise. 

“Of  _ course _ you are,” she says incredulously, voice lilting in that condescending way she always used on him when he was a kid. “You need me, Eddie. I’m sure you haven’t been taking proper care of yourself, not like I could.”

Rage simmers up and Eddie wants to yell: at her, at the situation, at his own gullibility. He would, if he thought it would help, but Eddie knows it won’t; Sonia’s the type of person that, when her mind’s made up about something, it takes an act of God to change her mind. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie mutters. “I’m taking perfectly good care of myself. I’ve got friends here who keep an eye out for me. You don’t need to worry.”

“Edward,” she sighs, like he’s being difficult or petulant. “You’re so naive. You just don’t get it yet but I do, Eddie, _ I do. _ These…  _ friends  _ of yours, they don’t care about you, not like me. If you come home, I can take care of you.”

This, after everything she’s spewed so far, is what makes the anger boil over; not her telling him he’s incapable or inexperienced—she used to tell him that on a daily basis, it was really nothing new. What burns him up inside is the way she undermines and insults his friends, the way she tells him they’ll all leave him, tells him that they’re unreliable when _they_ were the ones who were there for him the most in the last few years. 

It was all…  _ bullshit. _

_ “Don’t _ say that about my friends,” Eddie snarls, startling Sonia into more silence. His chest heaves as he sucks in lungfuls of air. “What the fuck, mom? You don’t even  _ know _ them.”

“Calm down, Eddie,” she says, starting to sound panicked.  _ Good, _ he thinks distantly,  _ that’s how I felt my  _ **_entire_ ** _ childhood. _ “Stress isn’t good for your-”

“Don’t call me anymore,” Eddie cuts her off. “I never want to hear from you again. Don’t think about doing this again because I’m… I’m done with all of you. The whole family. I’m blocking this number,  _ your _ number, and anyone I knew back in Derry. We’re done here.”

“Eddie, don’t be so sensitive,” she says, grasping at straws. “Honestly, you’ve always been so dramatic. You need me, sweetie, you know that, don’t you? Besides, what will everyone think about you if you  _ abandon _ me? That you’re ungrateful, that’s what. Everything I did was for your own good-”

_ “Stop lying,”  _ Eddie hisses.  _ “Nothing _ you did was for my own good and you know it. And frankly, I don’t care what people think about me because I’m  _ never _ coming back there.” 

_ “Eddie-” _ she tries again, desperation leaking into her tone, but Eddie’s had  _ enough _ and without any further fanfare, Eddie pulls the phone away from his ear and hits  _ ‘end call’. _

Almost as soon as he hangs up, the phone is ringing again. Angrily, Eddie throws his phone down on his bed but it bounces twice before falling off and onto the ground. It stops buzzing and Eddie thinks maybe it broke completely. 

There’s something heavy in his chest, sharp and prickly, and adrenaline bursts through his veins like wildfire. He breathes harshly, chest still heaving, and he vaguely feels like he might be sick. It’s much too quiet. 

His phone buzzes again, this time from its place on the floor, and the sound of it snaps him back into himself. He can feel his chest tighten, the way his breathing starts to become gasps and wheezes, coming in choppy and choked up and _ not enough _ . 

He hates himself for what he’s about to do because he hasn’t needed it in  _ years  _ but he finds himself fumbling with his desk drawer, searching frantically through his sticky notes and extra pencils and pens until his fingers shakily collide with his old inhaler. 

Eddie brings it up to his mouth, hand trembling violently, and pulls the trigger once, twice,  _ three times _ before he can feel his lungs start to relax. He rubs his chest and coughs, sinking to the floor and wishing away the tears that form in his eyes. He leans back against the leg of his bed and puts his head in his hands, angrily digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

The phone buzzes a few more times until the calls grow more infrequent and they eventually stop completely. 

Eddie sits there for some time, inhaler still clutched in his hand like a lifeline. He doesn’t cry or scream; he’s not angry anymore, or sad. Just indifferent. Apathetic. 

He’s not sure how much time passes before he finds it in himself to pick his phone up and delete the voicemails that were left for him. He doesn’t listen to them because he’s sure they’ll end up being the last straw before he completely fucking loses it. 

After that, Eddie meticulously goes through his contacts and blocks all his relatives; he never had very good relationships with them, anyway, so he doesn’t feel particularly guilty about it. 

It isn’t until he gets to his mom's contact that he hesitates, but only for the briefest of moments because everything she ever did flashes in his mind’s eye, tonight’s call still fresh. He clicks  _ ‘block contact’  _ and wishes it felt more cathartic than it does. 

He sighs again and rubs his temples, thinks about finding the Advil in his bedside drawer for the inevitable migraine he knows has been brewing since Monday. 

After another few minutes, he changes into his pajamas and gets into bed. He’s  _ exhausted _ , feeling that bone-deep tired, like he could sleep for a year and still not feel rested. 

His eyes close and his body feels heavy but his brain whirs, wide awake despite his body’s need for sleep. 

He tosses and turns, looks at the time every once in a while, until Eddie sits up abruptly, angry. An idea starts to form in his head and he fumbles with his phone, unplugging it aggressively. 

He scrolls through his contacts and stops at Richie’s name. He takes a deep breath, to calm himself, and presses  _ ‘call’. _

It rings a few times and on the third ring, Eddie starts to gnaw nervously on his bottom lip. He looks over at the clock he has on his desk and notes that it’s just after 12:30. Richie was probably asleep. 

The phone is picked up before the fourth ring can finish. 

“Eds?” Richie mumbles, voice gruff like how it sounds when he’s just woken up. “Hey. It’s, like, super late. What’re you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep,” Eddie chokes out, not completely untrue. “Can I come over?”

“Of course you can,” Richie says, sounding more awake now. “You know I always want you here.”

Eddie laughs weakly, a wet and thick sound from the back of his throat. Richie doesn’t say anything for a moment but Eddie can practically feel the tension—and questions—rise up in Richie. 

“Okay, seriously, what’s wrong?” Richie finally asks, having had enough. “Why do you sound like you’ve been… wait, are you  _ crying? _ Do I need to come over-?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Eddie lies, standing and slipping on his running shoes, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. “I’ll explain when I get there.”

“Okay,” Richie says, sounding troubled. “Hey, I love you.”

Eddie smiles gently; Richie always says it with such conviction and purpose and  _ pride _ , like he couldn’t be happier than he is with Eddie. Eddie hopes he displays just as much. “I love you, too,” he says softly, but with no less meaning. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

* * *

Last month, Richie gave Eddie the spare key to their apartment so Eddie doesn’t have any trouble slipping in. 

He shuts the door quietly and toes his shoes off, looking around the kitchen-living room area and notes that the blinds are  _ open  _ for once, despite it being dark out. Eddie rolls his eyes at their carelessness. 

Bill’s door is open and Eddie remembers Bill telling them that he had a movie date with a girl from his creative writing class that night—Audra, he thinks her name was. It must’ve gone well, then, if he wasn’t back by now. 

Stan’s door, on the other hand, is shut and there’s no light coming from under it but there  _ is _ a pair of shoes and a jacket littered outside, leading to the room. Eddie looks a little closer, recognizes them as Mike’s, and-  _ oh _ . They must’ve finally gotten their shit together, too. 

Eddie flushes a little, wondering in complete mortification if this is what it feels like to walk in on your parents  _ doing the deed, _ and hightails it to Richie’s room. 

There’s a soft light coming from under Richie’s door but Eddie doesn’t bother knocking, still having to push the door open and step over discarded clothes. 

Richie’s in bed, back slouched against the bed frame with his phone in hand and glasses sitting low on his nose. The lamp next to him on his nightstand glows a soft yellow. “You look like hell,” Eddie greets. “You’re gonna get scoliosis like that.”

Richie lights up, choosing to outright ignore Eddie’s diagnosis. “Hey,” he says simply, putting his phone down and pushing his glasses up. He scoots over to the other side of the bed and folds back the blankets, inviting Eddie into the warm spot he’d just vacated. Eddie shrugs out of his jacket and shimmies under the covers before burrowing his face in the pillows. 

“Hi,” Eddie mutters, voice muffled through the fabric. Richie huffs a laugh and then starts playing with Eddie’s hair, tugging on his ear until Eddie eventually gets the hint that Richie wants him to look at him. 

He turns his face out of the pillow and looks over at Richie, whose face is creased softly in concern. “Eds,” Richie starts gingerly, brushing Eddie’s hair back. “What happened? It’s almost one in the morning and I’m not upset that you’re here, but I  _ am _ worried.”

Eddie sighs, closing his eyes when Richie scratches his scalp comfortingly. “Come here,” he demands and Richie huffs again, reaching over him to turn off the side table lamp before cuddling close to Eddie. 

Richie wraps his arms around Eddie in a hug and Eddie ducks his head so it fits under Richie’s chin, nose resting on Richie’s collarbone. Richie soothes one hand over his back and the other cups the back of his head while Eddie hooks his leg over Richie’s hip, tangling his hands into Richie’s baggy t-shirt. 

“What’s up?” Richie asks again, tenderly detangling Eddie’s hair with nimble fingers. 

“Nothing,” Eddie whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

“Well, it’s clearly something, because you wouldn’t be here if that was the case,” Richie says back. They’re both quiet for a moment and then Richie says, “does this have something to do with the fight you and Bev had, by chance?”

“No,” Eddie says, then rethinks and says, “kind of? I dunno.” 

“You wanna talk about it?” Richie asks, because of course he does. 

“No,” Eddie rasps, feeling hot tears start to prickle at the backs of his eyes. He takes a shuddering breath and forges on anyway. “My aunt called and my mom was there. She wanted to talk.”

Eddie can feel Richie tense, the way he shifts just slightly to be able to curl around Eddie more before saying, “and did you? Talk, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, blinking his tears away. “She told me she wanted me to come back to Derry and I told her no. She wasn’t very happy with that and said some hurtful things and then I told her to fuck off. I blocked her, the rest of my family, and anyone I knew from Derry.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Richie whispers, placing a kiss to Eddie’s hairline and Eddie’s heart soars at the little nickname. 

It was kind of pathetic, the effect nicknames like  _ sweetheart _ and  _ baby _ and—most recently, apparently— _ love, _ had on him. He was attention starved and to Richie, it was like that was a personal affront. Not like Eddie minded, of course, because the way Richie fixed it was by showering him with affection. 

“I’m not,” Eddie says, voice shaking. “She’s a horrible person and an even worse mother.”

“Still,” Richie persists. “It couldn’t have been easy. You did it, though. It’s over.”

Eddie nods a few times, too choked up to say anything intelligible. His lip wobbles and a few tears slip down his face. After a moment, he takes a wet-sounding breath and says, “Bev’s probably gonna throw, like, a going away party or something.” 

Richie titters and pulls away slightly, causing Eddie to look up. Richie rests his hands on the sides of Eddie's face and wipes away his tears with his thumbs. He smiles and looks  _ proud. _ “I’ll help her,” Richie declares. “Gladly. Can't say I’m sad to be losing Sonia.”

“I’m not, either,” Eddie says definitively and Richie leans down at the same time Eddie leans up, meeting in the middle. 

It’s reminiscent of their first kiss: mostly just a peck, but it’s endearing regardless. Soft and idyllically domestic. 

Richie pulls away first and regards him with half-lidded eyes, something like concern or distress crossing flashing through his eyes. 

“What?” Eddie asks, suddenly worried and confused at the sudden emotional whiplash. 

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” Richie asks, seemingly out of the blue. 

“Uh, I dunno,” Eddie shrugs, the question catching him off guard. “I mean, I slept last night.”

“Okay, but for how  _ long _ ?” Richie prods, nosing at Eddie’s temple. Eddie leans into him. “I have a better question, actually: when’s the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?”

“Oh, Christ,” Eddie laughs awkwardly. “Probably when I was fifteen.” 

Richie contemplates this silently for a moment, his eyes sad. “You don’t look well,” Richie says softly, like it pains him to say. “You look worn out.”

And Eddie- he doesn’t want to cry again tonight so he says the first sarcastic thing that comes to mind.  _ “Great _ analysis, Rich,” he deadpans, giving him a flat look. 

Richie huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes. “Alright, Mr. Grumpy, time for bed,” he says, pulling away from Eddie so they can settle together more comfortably under the blankets. 

Eddie ends up tucked into Richie’s side anyway, one arm draped over Richie’s torso while Richie wraps an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and continually drops kisses to his forehead. It’s an incredibly sweet gesture and Eddie’s heart  _ aches.  _

He finds himself wondering something as the time slowly ticks by, though, and it niggles insistently in the back of his head, making him feel guilty. 

“Did I wake you up with my call?” Eddie asks softly, not completely sure if Richie’s already fallen asleep. 

Richie hums softly. “Yeah,” he murmurs and Eddie instantly feels bad but Richie continues on before Eddie can apologize. “But it’s no biggie. I like talking to you. Seeing you. I like all of you, actually.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Eddie says, trying not to feel too giddy at Richie’s words. “You know, considering the fact that we’ve been dating for almost a year.”

“Jesus, it’s been that long, huh?” Richie jokes quietly. “Feels like forever.”

“Oh, bite me,” Eddie snarks and Richie raises his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Is that an invite? Because I’d love to,” he says, grinning sleepily when Eddie groans and pushes him away, exasperated. 

“Christ, just go the fuck to sleep already,  _ Dick,” _ Eddie grumbles and Richie laughs. 

“If you steal all the blankets, I’ll put my cold feet on you,” Richie threatens playfully. Eddie huffs and hides his smile in Richie’s shoulder. 

“Nice try,” Eddie replies. “But nothing you do phases me anymore. I happen to  _ like _ your cold feet, even when you put them on my thighs.”

“I didn’t know you were into feet,” Richie says in such an offhand, flippant way that Eddie has to look up at him to make sure he’s joking. Richie grins down at him, toothy and lecherous. “You are one kinky guy, Kaspbrak.”

“Ugh,  _ ew,” _ Eddie says, face twisting up. “Are you done yet? I’m tired, Rich, of being awake and of your jokes.”

“I’m done,” Richie says, still smiling. “I’ll stop pestering you so you can go to sleep. I love you, Eds.”

“I love you, too,” Eddie murmurs, overwhelmed at how true it really is and at how easy it is to say. 

He smiles to himself, feels his eyelids grow heavy along with his limbs; he’s asleep within minutes, contented and ensconced by Richie’s presence next to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote and rewrote this chapter five times, all with the same general concept, and then I decided I hated that plot line because it was more angst than I really cared for so I scrapped it and wrote (mostly) fluff instead. 
> 
> This fic was the least planned one when I went into writing it so feel free to tell me how you felt about it! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!  
> Main: @chaoticlywise  
> Side blog for IT: @derrys-losers-club


	6. Richie Tozier, aka Gorgeous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re gorgeous,” Eddie sighs without really meaning to, tone slightly dreamy. Richie flushes bright red, eyes widening behind his glasses. “Can I call you that instead? Gorgeous?”
> 
> “Yeah,” Richie breathes. “You can call me anything you want.”
> 
> Or:
> 
> Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about a little prequel, hmm? 
> 
> TW: vomiting, underage drinking, implied smoking/vaping

Unsurprisingly, it's Beverly who convinces Eddie to go to the house party with her and Mike. He wishes he could say that he protested but a person can only deny Beverly Marsh for so long. She’s nothing if not persistent, and after meeting her last semester in their freshman algebra class, he’s learned that the hard way. 

This is how he finds himself in the middle of a raging house party on a Friday night, red solo cup in hand (filled to the brim with some _very_ spiked punch that he’s technically, _legally_ not supposed to be drinking), and trying not to think about the inevitable headache he’s going to have in the morning. Or all the physics homework he blew off for the sake of ‘letting off some steam’. Mike’s words, not his own. 

He leans against a wall in the living room of the frat house, observing quietly and sipping his drink every so often. A girl came up to him a few minutes after he and his friends arrived, handsy and flirty and already extremely drunk. Eddie, being too polite to just straight up tell her he wasn’t interested, had made small talk with her until she got the hint and eventually excused herself.

He wasn’t into girls much, anyway. He figured that out when he asked Betty Ripsom to junior prom back in high school. After the dance, she wanted to go back to her place to mess around and he had hesitantly agreed. They hadn’t gotten far when Eddie thought it would be a whole lot more fun if it were one of the guys from the football team he was making out with, but he stubbornly pushed those thoughts away and the next day, he was no longer a virgin. 

After that, he spent the rest of high school focusing on school work and keeping his mother happy and trying to tamper down his attraction to the other guys on his track team. His mother would’ve never approved.

He doesn’t come out to his mother, or anyone in that god forsaken town, really. He just grew up, finished high school, and moved onto college in Portland as soon as he could. 

He’s brought out of his musings when Beverly bounds towards him with a wide grin on her face, her posture incredibly loose and relaxed. She was obviously drunk but if her lax posture hadn’t been enough of a tell, the smell of alcohol on her breath makes itself clear when she hip-bumps him, laughing into his startled face when his drink is jostled. 

Eddie just barely manages to save his drink from spilling and he throws her a mock glare but she merely ignores that and chooses to simper at him instead, asking, “so how's it goin’ over here, loser?”

“You’re being mean,” Eddie whines playfully, pushing her away. She laughs quietly but her eyes find his and they’re genuine, like she’s asking, _‘seriously, are you really okay?’_ Eddie gives her a reassuring smile and nods. “I’m good.”

She scrutinizes him for another moment, like she’s trying to get him to crack, but he’s resolute in his answer and not quite yet drunk enough to start spilling his guts to her about how much he hates parties and that he was only there for her and Mike; Eddie would never guilt them like that. 

Beverly must figure out she’s not going to get anything else out of him so she lets it go and smiles widely, saying, “so, okay, listen!” She gestures to the front door and points out a horny looking jock that looked vaguely familiar, shouting, “that’s Ben!”

Eddie recognizes the name and it clicks that this was Mike’s friend he brought back to their dorm a couple months back to study for some test they had in a class they shared. Beverly was hanging out with Eddie when he arrived and she flirted with him so hard, the tension was palpable. Ben’s face was red and he was clearly flustered but she managed to coax his Instagram out of him and she followed him almost immediately. They’d been dancing around each other ever since but it seemed tonight was _(finally)_ the night they were going to figure it all out.

He really knows he should congratulate her but Eddie’s already somewhat frustrated at himself for giving into Bev earlier by coming to this party and more than a little tipsy. The point is: he’s feeling a little petty and a lot tired, so he merely raises a skeptical brow and says, “...so?”

Beverly, who is used to Eddie’s bullshit, only smiles wider. _“So,_ we're going back to his place,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Eddie snorts into his cup, trying to hide his amusement. “I saw Mike in the kitchen earlier but I think I saw him head out of here a half hour ago with that girl he’s been flirting with on Snapchat. I hope you don’t mind if I skip out on the rest of this party..?”

Suddenly realizing what an asshole he’d been acting like, Eddie nods enthusiastically, making a shooing motion with his free hand. “No, no, don’t wait for me. You guys get outta here,” he says. Beverly smiles again and leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek before turning back to the jock. “Have fun!”

She skips backwards and shouts, “you’re the best, Eddie!” gaining a few looks, and one drunken _whoop!_ from the crowd. Eddie snorts again and shakes his head fondly. 

“I know!” He hollers back as he watches Ben reach for her hand, looking antsy to get out of there. Even if Beverly hadn’t already hinted at it, there was no reason to wonder why; Eddie could clearly see the bulge in his pants. “Stay safe, Bev! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

She sticks her tongue out and flips him off, then disappears out the door with a hot, muscular himbo on her arm. 

Eddie sighs, feeling Beverly’s absence in its full; she was always the life of the party, or at least a major player in making going out on what would’ve been a perfectly good study night in seem like a really great idea. 

A couple stumbles into the wall next to him, knocking into his shoulder as they make out like there’s no tomorrow. Eddie scoffs and pushes away from the wall, making his way around the house and eventually finding himself in the kitchen.

It’s quieter in here, the lights are dim and the room is smokey. He coughs and feels the itch to reach for the inhaler that he didn’t need; a force of habit. 

A girl sits on the counter next to the bowl of punch, some frat guy between her legs as they make out. Eddie sighs, resigning himself to his fate, and walks over so he can dunk his cup back into the punch.

Eddie stands there for a little longer than he really intends to, ends up refilling his cup a few more times, just for something to do with his hands. Eventually though, the smokey quality of the room along with the warmth of the alcohol makes him feel hazy, and it’s actually… not so bad now. Nice, even. It’s still just a tad too loud and a bit too cramped but it’s _better._

The kitchen is mostly empty now, people hovering in the doorways that lead back to the living room or to the deck outside and Eddie finally makes up his mind as he refills his cup again. 

He knows he’s been a lightweight since he had his first beer back in junior high but he throws his head back and empties his cup. _Fuck it_ , he thinks as he goes for more punch. _It’s a Friday night and everyone else is getting drunk. Why shouldn’t I?_

And that’s exactly what he does: he drinks and dances and lets go. It feels _great_ and his head is fuzzy for the most part but he’s just on the right side of drunk to enjoy it.

Time passes indistinguishably and he dances with a few cute boys. He lets their hands flit over him, leaving the spots where they land feel tingly and buzzy. It’s fun, those little moments. Heated touches and stolen kisses. 

But those kisses end up with him making out with one of those guys in the corner of the empty laundry room, much like those couples he actively detested earlier. Now, he just feels breathless as the guy grabs his ass and _squeezes,_ pulling him closer from behind. He gasps as the guy buries his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck, sucking and biting hard enough that Eddie’s sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow. He tips his head back, exposing more skin, and then-

“Come upstairs with me.”

It’s less of a question, the way he says it, and more of a demand. Eddie thinks— _very_ briefly—about saying yes, but he’s stubborn on a good day and the way this guy practically _tells him_ to go upstairs with him not only irritates Eddie but makes his skin crawl. 

Eddie places his open palms on the guys shoulders, suddenly feeling _very_ turned-off by the change in this guy’s demeanor, and pushes him away. “Uh,” Eddie starts awkwardly, drunkenly laughing as the guy pulls away from his neck just enough to look at each other face to face. “I should actually start heading back to my dorm-”

“You kidding right now?” The guy asks, a little ire in his tone and looking confused. He’s definitely annoyed—if the bulge in his pants is anything to go by—but then, the guy smiles and it’s a little slimy but mostly startlingly _earnest_ as he cajoles, “c’mon, I can make you feel good.”

“I don’t care _what_ you can do,” Eddie snaps, feeling a little bit like how he imagines a cornered animal might. The guy takes the hint, though, eyes wide and hands up as he steps back. 

They look at each other for a moment, both a little stunned by the truly angry tone Eddie had used. Then, the guys expression changes to something more irked and he scoffs, _“fucking tease,”_ and he leaves, slamming the door behind him as he goes. Eddie jumps at the sound, his chest heaving with the sudden burst of adrenaline.

The adrenaline gives him a brief moment of clarity in which he decides exactly two things: 1.) he was definitely _not_ going to remember most (or any) of this in the morning. 2.) it was _way_ past time to go. 

Eddie brushes the wrinkles out of his shirt and fixes his hair in the slightly askew mirror hanging on the wall. He laughs a little sleepily to himself at his antics; _like it really matters,_ Eddie thinks distantly. _I look absolutely hammered._

All of a sudden, his stomach twists and Eddie groans, hunching over himself to hopefully quell the nausea slowly building; it doesn’t do much in the long run. He swallows thickly and thinks about Mike’s comforting words or Beverly’s cool hands pressed to his flushed cheeks. 

He stumbles out of the laundry room and heads in the direction he thinks he remembers the front door being. It abruptly feels too hot and everyone is too close. It’s like the walls are closing in around him and he can’t quite keep walking in a straight line. 

God, he should’ve left right after Bev did. He shouldn’t have let her coax him into coming to this thing _at all._ He feels like shit; he can already feel a dull throb at the base of his skull and his legs ache from over exertion and his stomach feels like it’s doing a complicated gymnastics routine-

He bumps into someone and their drink sloshes all over the front of their shirt. He expects them to tell him to _get fucked!_ or some other obscenity but a pair of warm hands grip his shoulders as he stumbles back, just enough to steady him. “Woah,” the voice says, echoey and distant. “You good, man?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as something warm and uncomfortable creeps up his throat. He gags once and just manages to push the hands away long enough to throw up in a nearby potted plant. 

People around him groan, making disgusted sounds and start moving away. “Shit,” the voice, now distinctly a guy, says. “I guess that answers that question.”

Hands that are not his own hover anxiously around his blurry vision until they finally settle on his shoulders. The guy must be talking, too, but Eddie’s feeling too much of _everything_ to really comprehend what he’s saying. 

Then, the hands on his shoulders are guiding him and he’s being helped to stand. The guy helps him shuffle to a bathroom, and Eddie is kneeling over the toilet before his brain can properly process the change of scenery, heaving and groaning. 

“Oh, _fuck,”_ the guy groans, sounding throughly disgusted, which was fair enough. One of the guy’s hands brushes his sweaty hair back and Eddie is reminded of Bev again. She’s so cool and nice and _such_ a badass- 

Eddie’s thought process is cut off as he heaves into the toilet once again, clutching weakly at the bowl. He should’ve eaten something or had some more water. Suddenly, a wad of toilet paper is in his line of vision and the guy's soft voice is saying, “here, you got a little on your chin.”

Eddie mumbles back what he hopes is decipherable enough to sound like a _‘thank you’_ as he takes the wad of paper and wipes his chin off. The guy says something back that goes right in one of Eddie’s ears and out the other as one of the guy's _(big, wow,_ so _big)_ hands settles on his back, rubbing soothingly.

He feels better for a moment but, internally, he’s screaming at himself to turn around and seriously thank this guy when there’s a timid knock on the door. Eddie’s stomach flips again—for reasons unrelated to the knocking—and throws up once more. He has the fleeting thought that this is getting really old, _really_ quickly, as the door opens, allowing two faces to peer in.

“R-rich,” one of the new faces says from the doorway, but Eddie is too preoccupied with emptying the contents of his stomach to try and play guess who. “Uh, is e-everything… okay in here..?”

“He doesn’t look good,” another, softer voice notes. 

_“Thank you_ for pointing out the obvious, Stanley. Always a pleasure to have in class,” the guy behind him quips dryly. His hand is still big and warm and placed on the center of his back, rubbing slow, wide circles with his open palm every now and then. “Listen, I’ll explain all of this but could one of you guys go grab him a glass of water or something first?”

The second new voice from the doorway _(Stanley?)_ says, “sure, be right back,” and then there’s the distant sound of retreating footsteps. 

Eddie heaves again but nothing comes up that time except spit and a little bile; he nearly gags again just from the smell. 

“What’s his n-name?” The first new voice asks, sounding a lot closer than before. The hand on his back stills and the guy behind him lets out a nervous laugh.

“Uh, I dunno, actually.”

“Do you know h-him, like, at all? S-surely you’ve had a class-”

“Bill, the only interaction I’ve actually _had_ with him was running into him, getting a drink spilled on me, and watching him puke his guts out into a house plant and now a toilet,” the guy says, voice deadpan. “We haven’t had a whole lotta time to fuckin’ kick back and chat.”

“Okay, okay,” the first voice says, hands up in surrender. _“Jee-zus.”_

The second voice comes back, stepping into the bathroom and handing a glass of water to the guy behind Eddie. “Here, do you think you can sit up?” The guy asks and Eddie nods. He leans back against the bathtub and the guy hands him the glass. Eddie takes a few sips as the guy and the two voices talk lowly to each other. 

“-what are we gonna do about him?” Voice two asks, sounding almost reproachful. Eddie bristles slightly when he figures that he must be _‘him’._

“Figure I’ll just help him back to wherever home is for him,” the guy says. “I can meet you back here later.”

“Are you sh-sure?” Voice one asks. “Wuh-we can help if you want.”

“Nah, I can handle him,” the guy replies. Then, he rounds back on Eddie and smiles. Eddie’s sure his heart melts right there on the spot. “What d’ya say? Lemme walk you home?” 

Eddie finds himself extremely inclined to agree despite some faraway voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Mike saying, _this isn’t a good idea. Why would you think this is a good idea?_

Eddie nods anyway and let’s the guy help him to stand. The guy wraps an arm around his waist and Eddie throws one of his over the guys shoulders. Then, they slowly _(very_ slowly) make their way out of the bathroom. 

Eddie gets his first look at the people who peaked in and talked to the guy. He can instantly tell they’re both taller than him, which irritates him as it always does. One of them has slightly tanned skin—like he was constantly in the sun—and red-ish hair. He’s also got some of the bluest eyes Eddie’s ever seen. 

The other one is thin, almost elegantly so, and pale with tightly curled, dirty-blonde hair that’s neatly styled. For some reason, the thing that sticks out most to Eddie is his pinched expression, like he’s clearly unhappy about _something._

Eddie doesn’t get much time to dwell on it because the guy is shouting a hasty, _‘bye, guys!’_ over his shoulder and escorting Eddie out of the house as quickly as he can manage. The throngs of people and Eddie’s stumbling probably don’t help much but they make it outside in one piece. 

Being out of the house definitely makes a difference almost instantly; Eddie’s headache isn’t as bad with the fresh air or the blaring music. It’s easier to ignore the aches in his legs, too. 

“Alrighty,” the guy says, adjusting slightly so they’re both more comfortable. “Let’s get out of here. Where to, shortstack?”

Most of their travel passes pretty slowly. As it turned out, the guy had chosen to walk with his friends to the party and Eddie came with friends who _did_ drive him but left before he could catch a ride back. So, it was walking for them. Fantastic. 

Eddie spends most of the walk leaned heavily against the guy. They have to stop every so often when Eddie feels especially dizzy and has to take a moment to push his nausea away. It was a miracle he hadn’t passed out yet; he was practically dead on his feet. 

Despite all this, Eddie directs them to his building to the best of his ability. He’s _absolutely_ shit-faced, but Eddie's always had a good sense of direction and it’s something he prides himself on so they make it back without _(much)_ trouble or delay. 

They’re lucky when they arrive at Eddie’s building that someone else is going in at the same time they are. The person—a girl that Eddie kind of recognizes—holds the door open for them and the guy thanks her, sounding breathless. The girl says it’s no problem and the guy insists that she take the stairs first. 

“-really should,” the guy is saying when Eddie tunes in. “We’re gonna be taking it slow and he’s already puked a few times tonight. Trust me, you won’t wanna be behind us.”

The girl looks thoughtful, eyes flicking between the stairs, the guy, and then Eddie, before she nods and begins to ascend the stairs in a half-jog. 

“Alright,” the guy grunts, adjusting Eddie once again. He looks down at Eddie and he’s briefly captivated by his eyes, the way the light glints off his glasses. “Shall we?”

“Ugh,” Eddie groans and the guy laughs.

“My sentiments exactly,” he says back, nodding solemnly. “Let’s do this thing.”

They take the stairs slowly, which Eddie is infinitely grateful for. He stumbles a few times but the guy always manages to catch him before he can fumble and fall. 

It feels like they’ve been walking for hours and Eddie’s exhausted. If it meant he could go to sleep right then, he’d just tell the guy to leave him on the stairs. He voices this once but the guy is adamant. _“Your back’ll hurt like a bitch tomorrow,”_ he said. _“Trust me, I speak from experience. You’ll be much happier in a bed.”_

Eventually, the quiet of their trip starts to get to Eddie—he doesn’t particularly like silence and the only sound right now is the scuffling of their shoes on the stairs and their slightly labored breathing. Fortunately for Eddie, it must be getting to the guy, too, because he suddenly starts to strike up a conversation.

“You gotta roomie?” The guy asks lightly, huffing a little breathlessly. 

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah,” he says snappily, because of course he did. Stupid question. Mike was great and, _god,_ was Eddie happy that he was rooming with someone like him and not like any of those frat boys. Those guys were messy and unreliable and… “gross.”

The guy lets out a surprised laugh and it’s light and warm and Eddie feels privileged that he even gets to hear it. “Gross? Your roommate’s gross?”

Eddie shakes his head tiredly. “Not mine,” he slurs. “Mike’s good. Just, like-” he waves his hand around in vague circles as he tries to find the right word, “-in general.”

The guy chuckles again, softer but no less genuine. “Fair enough.”

They’re quiet for a few moments as Eddie works on pushing his nausea down and not tripping over his own feet. Then, he asks, “do you?”

“Do I have a roommate?” The guy asks, and Eddie nods. “Two, actually. I’ve known ‘em forever. We grew up together.”

Eddie hums numbly, continuing to let the guy guide him up the stairs to his dorm. 

After a few quiet minutes, they reach another landing and Eddie stops him, saying, “this is my floor,” so the guy gestures for him to lead the way. Eddie smiles gently, and maybe it was just the alcohol coursing through him but he couldn’t help but think that this guy was really nice and, truthfully, _very_ good-looking. 

He’s not _just_ attractive, though—he’s totally Eddie’s type: tall with messy-curly hair, affable and seemingly with a sense of humor. And he had _glasses,_ which Eddie hadn’t previously thought did anything for him but- huh, here he is. There’s a first for everything, he supposed. 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he forgets about the slightly raised rug at the top of the stairs and promptly trips over it. 

The guy catches him, because of course he does. So far, he’s been the perfect gentleman: helping Eddie home, not being angry when Eddie got a drink all over his shirt, helping him to the bathroom so he could puke in peace. And Eddie…

God, he hadn’t even asked for this guys _name._ Just let him take care of Eddie without so much as a _‘thank you’._

The guy helps him stand upright, asking, “are you okay?” and Eddie nods. 

“Wha’s your name?” Eddie finally slurs. His voice is soft enough that he’s not sure the guy even heard him but he’s proven wrong. 

“Richie,” he answers without hesitation. “Well, it’s actually Richard but most people just call me Richie.” 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie sighs without really meaning to, tone slightly dreamy. Richie flushes bright red, eyes widening behind his glasses. “Can I call you that instead? Gorgeous?”

“Yeah,” Richie breathes. “You can call me anything you want.”

They walk down the hallway a little further until Eddie stops him. “This is me,” he says, fishing around in his pocket for his keys. He pulls them out triumphantly and leans into the door as he unlocks and pushes it open. 

He stumbles into the room, very distantly noticing the distinct lack of Mike, and toes off his shoes as he heads for his bed. Eddie flops down on it, stomach first, and sighs heavily. His cheap, dorm room mattress had never felt so comfortable. 

“You, uh, you good?” Richie asks awkwardly from the doorway. Eddie throws him a thumbs up. After a moment, the door still doesn’t close and the light flooding in from the hallways isn’t doing his headache any favors. Eddie turns to face him, glaring.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie mumbles, watching Richie watch him. 

“I just-” he cuts himself off, clearing his throat awkwardly. Eddie can’t figure out why _he_ would be feeling awkward. “I thought you said you had a roommate.”

“I do,” Eddie answers. 

“That’s not all that helpful now,” Richie snarks, almost to himself. Softer, he says, “you’re, like, _super_ drunk. I’m not sure you should be here by yourself. Do you have your roommate’s number so I can call him?”

Richie keeps talking but Eddie’s not really listening anymore; Richie’s tone is soothing, lulling him to sleep. The words don’t register and his eyes feel heavy so he lets them droop shut as he drifts off. 

* * *

Eddie wakes up with a splitting headache and groans as he turns away from the sunlight streaming in from the window. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and flings his arm out, feeling around his bed until his hand smacks into the hard screen of his phone and he lets out a semi-pained noise. He picks it up anyway and hesitantly pries his eyes open, blinking rapidly as he waits for his eyes to adjust. 

He turns his phone on to find a few things: five missed calls and even more unread texts from Beverly, his battery percentage at 6%, and the time reading, _‘9:31AM’._

He’s just about to reach for his nightstand when there’s an amused huff from across the room and a voice that is distinctly _not_ Mike says, “wow, you are no Sleeping Beauty when you wake up, that’s for sure.”

Eddie bolts upright, wide eyes snapping in the direction of the voice, crying out, “oh, my god!” He scrambles to pull the blankets tighter around him and he can feel his cheeks burning as his eyes land on the admittedly handsome guy sitting in his desk chair. “Who the hell are you?”

“Shit, uh, chill out, man,” the guy says, hands held out placatingly. Eddie has half a mind to wonder where Mike is and if he should call for help when the guy says, “I’m Richie.”

It’s hazy but the name sounds… familiar, like something he heard in a dream. Then again, _Richard_ is a pretty common name so Eddie sneers, “what’s that supposed to mean to me?”

“Jeez, you really don’t remember anything, do you?” Richie says absentmindedly. Eddie slowly shakes his head, _no._ “Actually, I think I’d be surprised if you did.”

“Why’s that?” Eddie asks, voice quiet. He feels like he doesn’t really want to know. This was already strange enough as it was, but in addition to _there’s a_ _strange man in my dorm,_ now there was also _, I can’t remember how I got home last night_. _What the fuck happened?_

“I guess you got really drunk last night,” Richie explains, shrugging a little. “We ran into each other and you got sick so I ended helping you back here.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, surprised. “Well, um. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Richie says, looking like he feels very out of place. Something occurs to Eddie, then, and he can feel a blush start to cover his nose and cheeks, going as far up as his ears. 

“Did you-” Eddie clears his throat, face feeling hotter than the sun. “I mean, d-did we-?”

“Did I pop your cherry?” Richie asks crudely, raising an eyebrow critically. Eddie glares and Richie shakes his head. “No, man. Who do you think I am? You were fucking drunk, I wasn’t gonna try to have sex with you.”

“Oh,” Eddie says again, shoulders drooping in relief. “Then… why are you still here?”

Richie laughs awkwardly. “Funny story, actually. I was kinda afraid you might choke on your own vomit,” he admits, scratching the back of his head nervously. “No one else was here and I just thought… I dunno. I’m sorry if this is weird-”

“No, uh, thank you,” Eddie repeats. “Like, yeah, this is super weird but… you know, thanks for bringing me home safe.”

“It really wasn’t a problem,” Richie assures, smiling again, this time more confident. 

Silence overtakes the room and they avoid eye contact, fiddling uncomfortably, until Richie says, “I should probably-” he snaps his fingers, pointing towards the door and pursing his lips, “-get outta here.”

Eddie nods in agreement, forcing himself to get up and out of bed. He’s immensely proud of his drunk-self for still being somewhat modest when he sees that he didn’t change out of his clothes from the previous night. Thank _god._ He doesn’t know if he could live down the embarrassment.

Richie starts walking towards the door, his hand already on the knob, when Eddie feels a pang of irritation at an earlier comment. Before he can stop himself, he’s speaking again.

“You wouldn’t have, by the way,” Eddie calls to him as he starts to twist the knob. Richie turns back, looking at him questioningly. Eddie rolls his eyes and says, _“popped my cherry,_ as you so eloquently put it.”

Richie grins suddenly, blindingly bright and mischievous. “That’s too bad,” he says and Eddie scoffs. “Really. Would’ve been an honor, _gorgeous._ You could make it up to me, though.”

Eddie’s head snaps up. “Are you kidding?” He asks indignantly. “That’s disgusting!”

“Wait, shit- no. I didn’t mean like _that,”_ Richie stresses, waving his hands out in front of him, a panicked look on his face. He covers his face with his hands and groans, dragging them through his hair before dropping them at his sides. “I _meant,_ maybe sometime we could go out for coffee or something. Only if you wanted to, of course.”

Eddie silently regards him for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. Richie _had_ helped him when he was drunk, and not many people would do that for a stranger. Besides, he was cute and flirty and if Eddie didn’t end up liking him, it was only one coffee. Slowly, Eddie feels himself nodding. 

“Gimme your phone,” he says. Richie’s eyebrows shoot up, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He fumbles with it, trying to get it out of his back pocket without dropping it. 

“What, are you tryin’ to rob me now?” Richie jokes, even as he unlocks it and hands it over.

His phone screen is cracked and the background picture is of him and two other boys. They look younger in the picture, all with a little baby fat and the one with sandy-colored, curly hair even has braces. They’re standing outside, it’s clearly nighttime, and the picture is blurry but it looks like they’re at some sort of outside festival or concert. They all smile brightly, arms hooked around each other’s necks, cheeks flushed. 

From a photography standpoint, it’s a bad picture: it's too blurry, there’s too much backlighting, and they all look papery-white from the flash. Eddie fights down a smile anyway, clicking on the phone button in the bottom left of the screen and creates a new contact for himself before he hands it back to Richie. 

“Edward K?” Richie reads. “What’s the K?”

“My last name, dumbass,” Eddie says. “K for Kaspbrak.”

“Oh, of course, my bad,” Richie snarks, rolling his eyes sarcastically. Then, his smile turns impish and he makes grabby hands at Eddie’s own phone, saying, “my turn.”

Eddie hesitantly unlocks and hands over his phone. Richie takes it gleefully and types into his phone briefly before handing it back. Eddie snorts. 

“Gorgeous?” Eddie reads, eyes flicking up to lock with Richie’s, who smirks at him. He looks like he knows something Eddie doesn’t. “You’re really full of yourself, huh?”

Richie laughs, surprised and jovial. _“Oh,_ yeah. I’m the most self centered bitch you’ll ever meet,” he says. Then he waggles his eyebrows and says, “just something to remember me by.”

Eddie eyes him suspiciously. _“Okay,”_ he says, drawing the word out. “Can I at least get a last name?”

“Well, I'm not ready for marriage but for someone as pretty as you, I suppose I can make an exception,” Richie sighs dramatically. “Tozier. Richard Tozier. Most people just call me Richie, though.” 

Eddie deletes the word gorgeous from his contact and instead types _‘Richie Tozier’_ in the slot. Richie pouts upon seeing this but it’s clear he’s not all that upset. Eddie smiles softly, saying, “in that case, call me Eddie.”

Richie’s eyes light up and he smiles. “That spelled with an ‘ie’ or a ‘y’?” 

“An ‘ie’,” Eddie says, watching Richie quickly making the adjustment in his contact. 

After their exchange, Richie slides his phone back in his pocket and turns back to the door. “It was nice to meet you, Eddie K,” he says as he slips out of the room. “You know, sober-you. I look forward to having coffee with you soon.”

Eddie doesn’t force the smile back that time and says in a voice that’s far too fond for someone he’s just met, “same here.” 

Richie offers him one last smile, this one softer and sweeter than the others, before he shuts the door with a soft click. Eddie finds himself staring at the door, trying to process _what the hell just happened,_ when his head starts pounding again. He groans and shuffles back into bed, reaching into his nightstand drawer for the bottle of aspirin he kept in there and the water bottle that sits on top of the nightstand. 

He takes two and washes them down with some water, never able to take them dry himself. He slouches down in bed and scrolls through his Instagram feed, liking a picture of Bev from the previous night when he receives a text. 

The notification is from Richie Tozier, and it says a simple, _‘hey:)) this is Eddie, right?’._ Eddie smiles involuntarily and clicks into the contact, changing the name to _‘Richie Tozier (aka gorgeous)’._ It wasn’t weird to call him that if that’s what Richie called himself, right? Besides, it _was_ kind of true.

He laughs at himself, feeling a little giddy with the butterflies floating around in his stomach. Before he can text back, the door knob rattles and Mike walks in, two coffees in hand. He passes one to Eddie and sits down in his desk chair. “You will _never_ believe the night I had,” he says, sipping on his own coffee. 

Eddie giggles softly, sitting up in bed and taking a sip of his drink. It’s still on the side of being too hot but it’s overly sweetened, just the way he likes it. “You wouldn’t believe mine either,” Eddie murmurs. Mike looks like he’s about to ask but Eddie shakes his head and says, “tell me about yours first.”

So, Mike launches into his story and Eddie types back, _‘yup, and this is Richie?’_

The reply doesn’t take too long, _‘yup!’_ and then a few seconds later, _‘ha, Eddie Spaghetti’._

Eddie scowls at his phone and quickly types back, _‘do not call me that’,_ before tuning back into Mike’s story with a soft smile curling up on his face. 

Richie Tozier, aka gorgeous. 

He was… nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe it’s over!! The ending was much different than what I originally thought it would be. Actually, the whole idea for this chapter was completely different than what I had planned. I originally had the idea to do their one year anniversary but I figured that would be too cheesy, considering that the second chapter was the “anniversary fic” lol.
> 
> Before I go, I have a question: how would y’all feel if I continued this as a series? If y’all would read it, I would write it. I’m not really sure what that would entail exactly or when I would write any of it (especially since I have a few other wips right now;)) but I’m tickled by the notion. So. We’ll see, lemme know if you’re interested. Send in an ask or DM me on Tumblr if you have any thoughts about it specifically. 
> 
> Alas, I will stop drawing this out any longer! As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr!  
> Main: @chaoticlywise  
> Side blog for IT: @derrys-losers-club

**Author's Note:**

> what do we think, folks? comments and kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> find me on tumblr! @chaoticlywise


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